Once Upon A Time In Los Angeles
by Rush Limborg
Summary: Set in a somewhat AU Season 10. What if Sam had taken advantage of the road trip of "Get Your Kicks On Route 666", to reunite with a certain someone? No mention of the Rebecca "baby" arc, here-I explain in the intro. "T" for grand passions ignited once more. Story is now complete, at long last! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Believe it or not, this story was actually inspired by the old real-life speculation during the "Rebecca Era", surrounding Ted Danson and Shelley Long supposedly giving serious thought to doing a movie together. That consideration, I recall reading, led to a photo of the two kissing—which in turn led to speculation as to whether or not Diane would be brought back for the show. Alas, she wasn't brought back until the finale—which was, of course, a big loss for everyone (just imagine Diane interacting with Rebecca…or getting to know Woody's beloved Kelly…or helping Sam put up with John Allen Hill).**

**Anyway, I guess the germ of a story went like this: "What if Ted and Shelley ****_did_**** do a movie together, during that time? And what the heck—what if it was a ****_Sam & Diane_**** story, set perhaps during one of the 'summer breaks' of the show?"**

**I later tweaked that, to set the story immediately following "Get Your Kicks On Rout 666". I know, it's kinda problematic for the "summer movie" conceit, but I'm kinda going with "if they'd done this movie, the show would've been much different around this point"…." For instance, there probably wouldn't have been a "having a baby with Rebecca" storyline in Season 10. (In other words, a different cliffhanger at the end of Season 9.)**

**The things a writer thinks of. Obviously, it's AU—among other things, it would mean the series finale would ****_probably _****have been a bit different. Look for some Easter-egg references to their conversations in that episode. Also, a scene involving a certain dress is a nod to sunnymadden's "Comfortably Numb". Here, the dress has a different fate.**

**Well—here we go, folks. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It was a new day. A new beginning, in more ways than one.

Diane Chambers sat at her typewriter, dressed in her bath robe. It was the last scene, the last page, the last several lines. And at last:

_Pull to a slow close-up, as her smile grows, her eyes welling up in tears of joy and contentment._

FADE OUT

END CREDITS

And with that, Diane let out a sigh of release, and smiled. "And there we are," she quietly said to herself. "_Finis_, at long last."

She took the page out, setting it in place amongst its predecessors. She then leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed. The truth was, there always was a great thrill to all this—the final stages of creation for each of her works. So help her, there was something deeply sensual about these triumphs—the feelings of victorious elation, after the bursts of energy propelling her through the crafting of climax and conclusion. Growing tension, and then finally an outburst of the pleasure of success—

It was the kind of feeling she lived for, in this career…this stage in her life, as a writer in Hollywood. It was the sort of pleasure she so rarely attained otherwise, nowadays.

She opened her eyes, and rose to her feet, pacing the room for a moment. Now, why would her mind point that out—again? Somehow, it seemed as though every time she felt the upsurge of completion, it was simultaneous with a swelling of…of…

Was it emptiness? Perhaps, but—why? Why did this keep _happening_?

_No—no, enough. I feel _alone_—nothing more, nothing less. Every time I feel the joy and thrill of triumph, I find myself wishing there was someone with whom to share that moment—_

_Oh, stop, for goodness sake!_

Finally, she leaned back against the wall, and found herself sliding down until she sat on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and shook her head. Finally she sighed, and opened her eyes, looking around at her surroundings—at her home.

Her home…on the California beach, Los Angeles. She lived there, alone—aside from her cat Christopher, her puppy Raymond, and of course, her stuffed friends. But she was alone. And this was far, far from the first time she'd been suddenly overwhelmed by this fact…and she doubted it would be the last.

_No…this won't last. It never does—I'll be over it, in a moment._

She rose to her feet, and she headed straight for her bathroom, to freshen up and dress.

A few hours later, she walked out the front door, taking in the gentle warmth of the California air. She could afford to walk the distance to the studio, today—she had finished early. Besides, she found it stimulating, invigorating—refreshing.

By the time she reached Hollywood Boulevard, the feelings of emptiness were long since passed. In their place was anticipation—the undeniable sense that some wonderful experience was about to envelope her—an emotional adventure to fill her with the highest emotions and fulfillments.

All things considered, she could hardly wait.

* * *

"So, this is L.A., huh?" Sam Malone said to no one in particular.

As usual, when someone around Cliff Clavin said something to no one in particular, the mailman took it as his cue: "Well _technically_, Sammy, we're, uh, currently driving in the eastern quarter of the Los Angeles Metropolitan _Area_. You know, it's a…little known fact that, er, the total square footage of the L-A-M-A—or as we in the Postal Service like to call it, 'The _Lama_'…is, uh, actually roughly equivalent to the—"

"Cliff," Dr. Frasier Crane sighed, "My advice to you—at this moment…is to quit while you're ahead."

"Yeah, I will, Doc, after I remember—what was it equivalent to; _ah_, yeah—!"

"So, Sammy!" Norm Peterson called out from the back seat, "What's our plan, then?"

Sam shrugged, "Well, I dunno—what were we thinking?"

"I've been asking myself that question for days," Frasier muttered.

Beside him, Norm shrugged, "Well, all I know is, just driving around and seeing the sights is _out_. We've already spent day after day either driving or sitting and waiting for the car to get fixed—personally, I don't need more sitting around. I couldn't take it. I couldn't."

Frasier rolled his eyes, "Norm, would you mind explaining to me how all this complaining of sitting in the same place all day—magically _vanishes_ when you sit on your _barstool_ all day?!"

Norm turned to him slowly, with a look of bewilderment on his face, "Doc…where have you _been_?"

"Oh, come on, Norm—it's a legitimate question!"

"Frasier…do you see a mug in my hand? And if you do, does it contain any beer? I sure could use some right about now."

"Oh, for goodness _sake_—!"

"Hey, hey, _hey_—settle down, okay?" Sam called back. "Now, I'm pretty sure some ideas were thrown around, right? So, what were they?"

"Someone suggested Disney," Norm offered. The others immediately responded with "Oh, yeah!" and "Sure! That sounds ideal!" and the like.

"Well, then!" Frasier beamed, "Are we all in agreement? Anaheim or _bust_?"

"I'm in," said Norm.

"Yeah!" Cliff nodded, "Uh, you know, I actually found myself enjoying Disneyland's counterpart, down in Florida—and I, uh, think it wouldn't be a bad idea to…er, take advantage of the same, yet different!"

"Uh-huh," Sam muttered, looking off through the window.

"So, how about it, Sammy?" Norm patted Sam's shoulder, "You for Disney?"

Sam shrugged, "Well, I dunno—I was…you know, kinda thinking of checking out Hollywood."

Cliff frowned, turning to Sam, "Hollywood?"

"Yeah, you know—movies, red carpets…" Sam smiled at them all, "_Actresses_…"

"_Oooo_!" Cliff and Norm replied in unison, with Norm adding, "There's our _Sammy_!"

Amid the laughter and hoots, Frasier said nothing. Finally, he turned to Cliff, "Cliff, could you stop at that gas station—I'm suddenly possessed of a need to…"

"Say no more, Doc!"

When they pulled into the station, Norm said, "Yeah, I think I'd better go stretch my legs a bit."

"And replenish your supply of beer, no doubt?" Frasier smiled.

"No, I don't care for bottles."

"There are cans."

Norm shrugged, "I can substitute."

"Well, I think I'd better take a leak, myself," Sam said as he opened his door.

He and Frasier were in the men's room when the doc whirled to him, "Sam, what on Earth are you thinking?"

Sam frowned. "What—?"

"Oh, for goodness sake—_Hollywood_, Sam! You weren't being _serious_…were you?"

Sam shrugged, "Well, why not? I hear the drug stores are a good spot for picking up hot wannabe—"

"_Sam_," Frasier stared at him, "Right now—you are going to have to be honest with yourself. And therefore, you are going to have to be honest with _me_."

"What are you talking about—?"

"_Who_, Sam. Hollywood! And you are not going to tell me you don't remember."

"Oh, come on, Frasier, it's got nothing to do with Diane—"

"_There_ you go! Sam, what could you possibly be thinking?"

"Hey—_Frasier_, what's the matter with you?"

"I could ask you the same question! _Sam_…you spent the past several years seeking to prove to yourself that you are _over_ her—"

"I am!"

"Oh, come off it—you called out her _name_!"

"What?"

"When the car broke down—don't you remember?!"

"Yeah, of course I remember—look, that was just—"

"Unless there's something wrong with your eyes or your memory, Cliff Clavin looks _nothing_ like Diane Chambers—!"

"Hey, lay off about her, will you?!" Sam threw out his hands. "Geez…I just wanted to check out Hollywood—I wanted to see what it's like."

Frasier nodded solemnly, "You want to see the victor over you."

"What?"

"The competitor who spirited away your dear beloved—"

"Aw, come on…" Sam shook his head, "Frasier! It's not about that—nothing 'took' her away from me. We _agreed_ that she wouldn't come back until she had a shot at her dreams—"

"And you're _not_ going to tell me…" Frasier stared hard at him, "…that _part_ of you—part of your heart—wasn't silently wishing that she _would_ return in those six months?"

Sam shook his head, "Come on, Doc—"

"_Oh_, is it really that hard to believe? Then why did you sell the bar in the first place…?"

"_Look_—that was _then_. Frasier, this is _now_—and I'm _fine_."

Frasier looked off for a moment, and sighed. He turned back to Sam, and said, "Sam, I only need to know you're not…_conflicted_. It's been over four years. If after all this time, you aren't _sure_ how you feel…"

Sam smiled, "Hey, you got a cell phone—I'll know where to find you."

Frasier paused for a moment longer, and finally returned the smile, as he patted Sam on the shoulder. "Well," he said, "To Hollywood, then?"

"Yeah—hey, I'll have you guys drop me off at a diner or something. I'll call a cab."

Frasier frowned, "I'm sure they won't think it's much trouble—"

"No, you guys head over to Disney. I'll be fine."

Frasier shrugged, and nodded, "All right. Well…I don't suppose we should tell the other guys?"

"Tell 'em what? I just told them—"

"And you didn't tell them _why_."

Sam chuckled, "Come on, Frasier—what's to tell them? I'm just checking out the stars!"

Frasier sighed, "Well…either way, Sam—good luck."

"Thanks."

"But you _will_ call me?"

"Yeah, I'll let you know when I get a hotel."

"Right."

"What's your number again?"

Frasier shook his head with a smirk, and pulled out one of his cards and a pen. "I'll write it down."

* * *

**More to come, folks! Stay tuned...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: Thanks for the comments, so far, folks!**

**Here's a little one-the next chapter's a bit longer. (Thanks to sunnymadden for the note about _Mildred Pierce_. Mea culpa-got my noirs mixed up...)  
**

* * *

Robert B. Smithers, Chief Executive in charge of the Creative Department of Dynasty Entertainment, always struck Diane as having more than a passing resemblance to a greying yet still in-his-prime Cary Grant. He certainly had a sense of classical debonair about him. She'd once asked him if he'd ever considered acting, himself. He'd just chuckled. That had been his only answer.

Diane sat down in his office, waiting as he read the closing pages of her script. His face was unreadable, his brow furrowed, his lips tight. At last, Smithers set down the last page, folded his hands, and leaned to her.

Diane gave a small smile, "Do you like it?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm a little bewildered by it."

Diane blinked, somehow keeping the smile. "Come again?"

"Somehow, I'd never expected you to be that violent."

"You're…referring to the climax?"

"What else, or is there something about you I need to worry about?"

Diane chuckled, "Right, well—to be honest, Robert, I can't say I'm used to writing that sort of scene. I only…well, let's say I thought it would be true to the character."

"And the genre, I take it."

Diane shrugged, "You wanted a 'crime film'."

"I did—I suppose I was expecting _The Godfather_ from you, and not _Taxi Driver_."

"Well, I was somewhat inspired by _Mildred Pierce_, to be honest."

"Diane, I don't recall Joan Crawford unleashing an Uzi against the mob."

"Well…" Diane chuckled, "No, she didn't. But—in this case, I suppose it was a burst of final empowerment against the forces that have—"

"Yes—again, _Taxi Driver_. It amazes me you would like such a film."

Diane frowned, "Actually, I never saw it."

"Never?"

"Well…from what I've heard about it, I suspect I might suffer…" she shrugged with a small smile, "well—nightmares."

Smithers gave her a smirk of his own, "From the violence?"

"Well for what it's worth, Robert, I made it a point, as you've read, to allow for the actual violence to occur _off_ screen—"

"Yes, I noticed. That's good—cable or not, we're still talking about _television_, after all."

"Naturally." After a pause, she asked again, "So, then…did you _like_ it?"

"Honestly? I actually did," the man's smile grew. "Congratulations, Miss Chambers—I think we'll be seeing this on the air, by this time next year. I'll bring it to the others—I suspect you'll want to come in tomorrow. I'll tell you how it goes then—but as far as we're both concerned, this has the automatic green-light."

Diane nodded with a smile.

"Uh, that—means you have nothing to—"

"Yes, I'm aware of what it means, Robert," Diane nodded again, her smile growing. "I'm not _that_ far removed from the…'lowbrow' end of society, if you will. In fact, as a certain _writer_ once—"

"Diane…" Smithers held up his hand, with a polite and tired smile.

Diane blushed and chuckled. "Sorry…there I go again, huh?"

"Oh, we've learned to live with it."

"We…?"

"Never mind—I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he stood up, extending his hand. "Preferably around lunch."

Diane rose to her feet, and clasped his hand, "Tomorrow at lunch, Mr. Smithers. And thank you."

"Thank _you_."

Diane managed to keep her calm until she was out of the building. And then, she pressed her fists together in front of her chest, looking upward with a beam, and let out, "_Yes_! I _did_ it—I DID it! Oh—"

She rushed over to the curb and hailed a taxi—all beaming and aglow.


	3. Chapter 3

The truth was, Sam Malone had no idea what he was doing in Hollywood. The rest of the guys were already having a great time, at Disney—enjoying themselves…relaxing, after the insanity of the trip across America.

So what was he doing _here_…in Los Angeles? Alone, without the others to talk to….

Under normal circumstances, it meant he needed time off, to think—to be by himself, and clear his head. Still…in L.A.?

He didn't know. Maybe Frasier was right. All he knew was, ever since that _jolt_—when he'd tried to check out Cliff's car, and had gotten zapped for his troubles…and had briefly thought he'd seen, standing before him—

He flinched, as he sat in the restaurant/lounge, listening to the band. _Is that it?_

Los Angeles…where _she_ was.

Weird, wasn't it? Getting zapped—and suddenly, he'd been so sure he saw a face he'd tried so hard to forget.

_Oh, yeah…sure. As if that's it. Geez, it's not like I'm _trying_ to look her up._

Or was he? What was he doing _here_, anyway? It wasn't his kind of place—but here, in Hollywood…in a lounge where everything was classy and elegant…

A waitress walked up to his table, smiling, "Hello, sir, welcome to the _Coltrane Lounge_—is this your first time, here?"

Sam smiled at her. She was young, brunette and chocolate-skinned, and her sparkling deep blue dress showed off her figure well. She looked kinda like Diana Ross. "Well, I'm sure I'd have remembered being here before, if I did," he said

She chuckled, "Well, then—hope you'll love what we're offering. Would you care for a drink?"

"Well, I don't _drink_…" Sam's smile grew, "But I'd sure like something warm and steaming, right about now."

"Well, we have an assortment of coffees—made as you like 'em."

"Okay…how about this: make it just a little creamy, and sweet…" as he looked her up and down, "With the right amount of zest and spice—"

The girl chuckled, "_Well_…I'll see if we can't stir something up."

"Hey, that'll be great…" Sam leaned to her direction, "And if you're not too busy tonight, maybe it's something we can stir up together…the two of us…?"

The girl blinked, and shrugged, "The coffee should be here soon, sir."

And she headed off.

Sam shook his head at himself, _Yeah, that wasn't up to my usual standards, was it?_

He sighed, and looked off at nothing in particular, listening to the music. There was a guy on the stage in the middle of the room, with the band, singing that classic Sinatra bit: _"Give me one…for my baby—and one more…for the road_…._"_

_Yeah,_ Sam mused,_ A song about a bar. Boy, how things end up._

_Oh, yeah, what a long shot, huh? And I don't even know what I was thinking—if I wanted to look her up, I'd have looked her up. I mean…what are the odds, anyway?_

The waitress arrived, with a thermos of coffee, and a couple of mugs. "Here you are, sir," she said as she set it down.

"Hey, thanks," Sam said. "Oh, and, uh…listen, I…just think it'd be kind of a shame if you won't sit down. You know how it is; I…"

The waitress smiled softly at him, "Feeling alone, sir?"

Sam shrugged, "Oh, I dunno…maybe. Yeah, I guess I kinda am."

The girl nodded slowly, and took a seat. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Oh, what the heck—I've got nothing better to do," Sam chuckled. He let out a sigh, and said, "You know…I'm actually just in town for a visit."

"Oh…visiting someone, or—just checking out the town?"

"You know, I'm not even sure…" Sam looked off, "There's someone I knew, who works in this town. She's a writer, and…well, I dunno."

"You don't know…?"

"I don't know what I thought I was gonna do, when I came in. It was over, a long time ago."

"But…you're here."

"Yeah, and I don't even know why."

"Well…it seems to me like she's quite a gal. You know—the kind of woman you don't forget."

Sam turned to the girl, and smiled, "Yeah, that's one way of putting it."

She nodded, "I had a man, once…. Didn't work out, but there _are_ times I think 'You never know'. You know—not that it's my business, but…seems to me like you're trying to find a way to…feel like you're still close to her. But on the other hand, something's keeping you from actually _going_ to her—trying and seeing if you can't rekindle."

"Well…it's not like that's the best thing for us…I kinda live across the country."

"Ah. But something drew you here."

"Well, I was driving with the guys…we thought it'd be fun to go all the way to California for a couple weeks."

"Oh, are they here, too?"

"No…they're off at Disney."

"But you're _here_."

"Yeah…yeah, that's right, I am."

The waitress leaned to him, and said, "What's her name?"

"Oh, Diane. Diane Chambers."

The woman blinked, and smiled, "Are you _sure_ you didn't come in here on purpose?"

Sam smiled back, "I said I wasn't sure _what_ I was doing. But—how do you mean?"

Still smiling, the waitress rolled her eyes. The song ended—and Sam heard the guy thanking the applauding audience and stepping down.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw woman walking up to the stage, and talking to the head of the band. And then she stepped to a microphone, taking it as she sat down on the high stool. "Hello, everyone," she said.

And Sam froze at the sound of the warm, golden, gentle voice he could never forget. He turned to focus on her—to be sure. For a while, he couldn't move again.

He'd forgotten how beautiful she was—her soft face and warm smile, her trim, almost fragile body and her long, slender legs. She was in a black dress he remembered so well—the strapless dress she wore when she'd gone out with Cliff to that ball—but with her golden hair down and about her shoulders.

The lounge broke out into applause and cheers and a few calls of her name. Sam just sat there, stunned silent.

The waitress chuckled, "So, it _is_ her."

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah…it's her."

_Son of a gun. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world_…

The band started up, and Diane Chambers—with a playful smile and a lively air in her posture—began to sing:

_Here's to those who love not too wisely—_

_No, not too wisely, but too well…_

_To the girl who sighs with envy, when she hears that wedding bell…_

_To the man who'd throw a party, if he knew someone to call—_

_Here's to the losers…bless them all…!_

She held up a small cluster—what looked to Sam like mistletoe:

_Here's to those who drink their dinners, when their lady doesn't show…_

_To the girl who'll wait for kisses, underneath the mistletoe…_

(As she let the cluster fall to the ground—)

_To the lonely summer lovers—when the leaves began to fall—_

_Here's to the losers…bless them all!_

Sam found himself smiling, his eyes fixed on her—and nothing else. It was _her_…as she deserved to be—her aura commanding all in the room to witness and admire. She sang "from the heart", in every sense of the word—and the hope of the lyrics shined through in the confident optimism of her soul.

For a moment, he was so sure her gaze met his, and she froze. Either he was imagining it, or Diane was far too professional to let it faze her more than that.

She rose from the stool, and walked over to a small stand, taking a glass of champagne, as her voice suddenly seemed tinged with intensity—the intensity that usually came with a tear:

_Oh, Tom, Dick, and Harry! Come in out of the rain!_

_The torches you carry…must be drowned in champagne!_

(And then—she looked at him once again, her body straight and her posture taut)

_Here's the last toast of the evening—here's to those who still believe—_

_All the losers shall be winners—all the givers shall receive!_

(She raised her glass in salute—and her gaze lowered, as if internal)

_Here's to trouble-free tomorrows. May your sorrows all be small—!_

_Here's to the losers…here's to the losers…_

_Here's to the losers…!_

_Bless them all!_

And then she downed the drink amid the applause and the cheers—and seemed to _slam_ the empty goblet down on the stand. And Diane Chambers rushed out.

Sam's gaze followed her, to a balcony.

He felt the waitress pat his shoulder—she was standing up and smiling down at him. "Good luck," she said.

Sam smirked as the woman left. _Yeah…something tells me we're both gonna need it._

* * *

**Note: This chapter sort of sprang up from my intense disappointment that few films with Shelley seem to take advantage of her lovely singing voice. So I had the idea of a recurring motif in this "movie" storyline, involving a lounge for the "classy" in Hollywood to hang out. I figured, if she was one to sing "Isn't It Romantic" and "Sunny Side Of The Street", she'd have quite a bit of "crooner" songs in her repertoire. It's sort of an homage to the classic film noir moments of the female lead breaking out into song with the band in the lounge (think Lauren Bacall in ****_To Have And Have Not_****)-only this (sadly fictional) lounge makes that into an art form.**

**The lounge, of course, is named for the legendary jazz artist John Coltrane.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: Okay, folks-in the spirit of the "movie" conceit, I begin my peppering of our story with references to "One For The Road". I suppose they'd have conversations like in that ep, whatever the context for their reunion. Also look for a quick nod early in this chapter to the final scene of "I Do, Adieu"...**

* * *

Diane stood out in the balcony, looking out to the streets of nighttime Los Angeles…desperate to clear her mind of the face she was so certain she'd seen.

_No…no, it wasn't him. It couldn't have been him. He's in Boston—why would he be here? What reason would he have…to be here?_

"Diane?"

Diane closed her eyes, bracing herself. No more denial—no more explanations. It _was_ him! He was here…standing behind her. Sam Malone was _here_.

She swallowed, and turned to him, blinking back her tears. "Sam?" she whispered.

Sam smiled, and walked up to her, "Hi, honey," he said, matching her quiet tone.

A part of Diane's mind focused on the song her successor on the stage was singing—of all things, "What'll I Do?" Somehow, she remembered that song ringing through her mind, when—when she'd left…

Diane shoved the thought away, as she shook her head in wonder. "Why…well—I-I wasn't expecting…"

"Yeah, neither was I," Sam chuckled, looking off, "You know, this isn't something I'd do all the time."

"W-well, I…" Diane swallowed, and asked, "Well, what…brings you here?"

"I dunno…" Sam shrugged, "I was on a road trip with the guys, and we drove all the way to California."

Diane felt a smile, "The guys—oh, well, I don't suppose they're here, too?"

"No, they're at Disney. I was actually gonna join them, but then I figured, what the heck—I'll see Hollywood. See if I can't hang out with a few stars…."

Diane shrugged, with a nervous chuckle, "Well, I'd hardly call myself a 'star'."

Sam grinned, "You sure were a few minutes ago."

"Oh, that? Why, that was only a hobby of sorts. The most faithful patrons with certain talent are encouraged to participate."

"Yeah, I figured. A classy karaoke."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it _that_."

"Well, I didn't say you would."

"I certainly wouldn't!"

Sam chuckled, and said, "Well, you sure were great up there."

Diane smiled, "Thank you, Sam."

They looked off for a minute or two, saying nothing. Diane flinched. _Well, I might as well._

She swallowed, and said, "I…I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. I've been—terribly busy."

Sam looked at her and shrugged, "Well, hey, there's no need to apologize. Life's been great for you; life's been great for me, too."

Diane straightened up, and leaned to him expectantly, "Oh—oh, really, Sam? How…how have you been?"

"Oh, I'm doing great—got the bar back about a year ago—"

"What do you mean, _back_?"

Sam frowned, "Yeah…right, you don't know about that. Well, I sold the bar a little while after you left—I just got it back."

Diane stiffened. Somehow, she seemed to recall knowing about this, but… "Well, why on Earth would you want to sell _Cheers_?"

Sam paused, looking at her for a moment. Then he shrugged, "It's a…long story."

Diane frowned, "Well, I…imagine that's—quite a tale."

"Yeah, you said it."

Diane swallowed, and asked, "Well, then—how long should you be in Los Angeles?"

"Well, I said I'd meet up with them in about a week—next Tuesday, we'll meet up."

"Indeed! Do you have a room?"

"Yeah, I just checked into a hotel—"

"Oh, I wouldn't hear of it. I have a guest room in my beach house—why don't you stay with me?"

Sam said nothing.

Diane flinched, "Unless, of course…you'd rather not."

Sam shrugged, "Hey, anything to save a few bucks—why not?"

Diane stiffened. _Is that it? Or is he only saying it? And for what reason? Oh, stop—he's _here_, now!_

No…she knew the answer. After all these years…all these years apart—

She forced a smile. "Well, then—shall we, tonight?"

"Uh…what?"

She snorted, looking up at him with her head inclined slightly downward, "Shall we move you and your _things_, tonight?"

"Oh, right. Well…sure, let's…go right ahead."

She supposed she should have expected it…the tension, the "wall" between them as they walked out of the club. That had no bearing whatsoever on the sinking feeling in her heart…the feeling of guilt such as she hadn't felt for some time, now returning in full force.

_Of all the words of tongue or pen…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: Okay-three scenes, this chapter! It's for build-up-I'll wrap up the week with what should prove to be something big.**

**By the way...I noticed some of you all had been wondering about Frasier. I suppose a part of me anticipated such, or something-but regardless, here goes...**

* * *

When Frasier received the call, he was in the middle of the section of the park deemed "Critter Country", right near Splash Mountain. He smirked and shook his head as he put the phone to his ear, silently praying it wasn't Lilith. "Hello?"

"Uh-hey, Frasier, it's Sam!"

"Sam! How are you—everything's all right, I trust?"

"Yeah, we're do—I'm doing great. I just…checked into a good place, and we're moving my stuff in. Thought I'd call you. How are you guys?"

"Oh, we're quite good—thank you. The others are about to go onto that attraction—" he checked the sign—"Yes, Splash Mountain, the one based upon a film based upon the book by—"

"Yeah, I know that one. Great songs, huh?"

"Well, I'm sure they are, but from what I have heard regarding the film…"

"Come on, Frais: don't tell me you're afraid to get _wet_."

"Now see _here_, Sam—I am currently still dressed in a suit and _tie_—"

"Hey-hey, hold on: are you telling me you didn't bother to change into something?"

"Sam, they _insisted_ we go to the park _first_!"

"Oh, well—I'd say get a poncho, then. They should have some at a shop, right? They got a lot of those…."

Frasier scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "All right…I will tell the others you called, and that you are doing well."

"Thanks, Doc."

"Uh—Sam?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"If—if you don't mind my asking: What do you mean, 'we'?"

"What?"

"Well—'_we're_ doing great', '_we're_ moving my stuff in'…"

"Oh, yeah. Well, uh…you know how it is, huh?"

Frasier smirked and chuckled. "All right, Sam—my apologies. I suggest you attend to your date immediately—in short: go get 'em, tiger!"

He heard Sam give a chuckle of her own, "Yeah, I'll see you all in a week, huh?"

"In a week, Sam."

"And Frasier?"

"Yes?"

"Loosen up and have some _fun_, okay?"

"All right, Sam, _thank_ you."

That was it. Frasier pocketed the phone, and looked around him…taking in the atmosphere.

"Hey, Doc!" Norm called over from the entrance to the ride, "Sure you won't change your mind?"

Frasier felt his smile grow, "You know, on second thought…" he walked over, "I think I _will_ brave the Briar Patch."

* * *

Sam hung up the pay phone, and smiled at Diane, "Well, that should hold 'em for the week."

Diane nodded, saying nothing.

"Hey…you okay?"

She blinked, and shrugged, "Well—yes, I suppose. I only…"

"Come on, Diane: what's up?"

Diane sighed, and said, "He still believed you are staying at a hotel?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

"He…doesn't know—about me?"

Sam frowned, "Did…you want him to know?"

Diane gave another attempt at a shrug and said, "Oh, well, I suppose I shouldn't—not particularly; it's just that…is there a reason he—shouldn't know?"

Sam sighed, "I dunno…I guess I just—didn't think it was anyone else's business."

Diane nodded, her lips pursed as she looked off.

"Hey…" Sam put his hand on her arm, "You sure you're okay?"

Diane swallowed, and looked at him, "Sam, if—if this whole thing is…if it's making you _uncomfortable_—"

"Aw, come on, sweetheart, it's not like _that_. I just…" Sam shrugged, "You know—I just thought this would be kinda…between us, you know?"

Diane said nothing.

"You know…just so they won't make a big deal about it."

Diane nodded, her gaze lowered. "You mean…a bigger deal that it is."

"Yeah, exact—wait…oh, sweetheart—"

"N-no, I'm sorry, it's fine. That's not—" Diane sighed, and gave a smile that seemed to Sam to be a _little_ forced—nervous. "Shall we go?"

Sam nodded, watching her for a moment as she headed to the taxi.

_What does she think is going on, here? First she invites me to crash at her place, and now she…?_

As a rule, Sam Malone prided himself of being an expert on women—knowing what they wanted, how to please them, and how to let them off without any real hard feelings (usually…). But—with Diane…

Actually, part of him suspected he had an idea what was going on—but another part didn't want to even consider it. After all…it was over between them—_long_ over, right? He was just visiting—they were just gonna hang out like old friends.

_Except for me, my "old friends" and "old girlfriends" are _usually_ two completely different groups. Yeah…how about that?_

"Sam?" Diane was by the taxi, looking at him, "Are you coming?"

Sam nodded and headed over, "Yeah, don't worry, I'm coming."

* * *

_"Sweetheart"._

The word hadn't escaped her notice…nor did the fact that he'd said it twice—in about as many minutes. And why _did_ he presume to make all this a secret? Apparently, none of the others even knew why he was _here_, and not with them. Was Sam Malone truly so insecure of his feelings that he'd make such a point of keeping it secret?

Or—heaven forbid, was it possible?—perhaps…Diane had misread all of this. Perhaps it was _she_ who was so insecure of her feelings—to the point of projection. For all she knew…

_No._ No, she had no proof, either way. She couldn't be sure _what_ all this was about…and in fact, she strongly suspected Sam wasn't so certain, either.

She opened the door to her house, and led him in with a beaming "And—here we are, Mr. Malone: my little abode on the shore, by the sea!", her hands spread out as she whirled to face him.

Sam chuckled, and looked around, "Yeah, this—it's sure a pretty nice place you got. Hey, is that a…?"

"Ah, yes!" Diane glided across the room to the glass French doors of the back, opening them to the octagonal wooden deck, with ledges as though for a balcony. "I've found it so often a stimulating experience, standing here," as she did so, "looking out to the sea with my hands on the ledge…closing my eyes and feeling the breeze, taking in the smell of the salt in the air…."

"Yeah, you said it," Sam said as he stood beside her, "Sure brings back a lot of memories."

"Yes…."

"Like the Cape—the salt air…?"

"Oh, _Sam_!" Diane looked at him, shaking her head with a chuckle.

Sam smiled at her, warmly…and Diane felt his hand on her own.

They held one another's gaze at this, for what seemed like an eternity. This moment…as the sun was setting…the breeze gentle, Diane feeling it run though her hair as she looked up at him…and saw in the eyes of Sam Malone the _truth_—a truth of which he may or may not have been aware. And she wondered if he was able to see that same truth, in her own.

And then they both looked off, clearing their throats as they moved their hands away.

"Well, um…" Sam muttered, "Who's hungry? I know I am…."

"Yes, well…" Diane nodded, forcing a smile. "I—I know of a charming little _boîte_ that should have one or two dishes to…well, strike your fancy."

Sam smiled blankly at her for a moment, and said, "That's a restaurant, right?"

"Yes," Diane nodded quickly. "It is, um…. Well, shall we put your things away, or…?"

Sam shrugged, "Whatever you want, Diane."

Diane straightened up, trying hard not to show her inner reaction. _Oh, Sam…shall I let you know what I want?_

_No…not like this. We can't expect to—especially when I'm not sure how _you_ would react. Do _you_ know what you want, Sam? Or are you afraid that _I've _moved on—?_

Diane shrugged. "Well, I would imagine it—might be quite late when we return."

"Well, you know, we just drove across the country—I'm still dealing with the time zones. I'll be awake for a while. How about you?"

"Well, I…at the very least, they do have coffee."

"Okay, then…let's—get to it, huh?" Sam smiled, and spread his hand out back into the house, "Ladies first?"

Diane smiled at him, "Thank you, Mr. Malone."

She passed him to get her purse once again—and so she could gather herself without his noticing her turmoil.


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, folks-here's a long one, for the weekend!**

**Note: The reference to an Emily Dickinson miniseries is based off of that old Cheers-centered NBC promo, where Diane falls asleep and dreams she and the gang are at the event, and she converses with Pierce Brosnan (Considering how she gushes over him in that special, wanna bet he'd be Diane's favorite Bond?) and Carnac the Magnificent. Whether that short is "canon" or not, I'd like to think she counts ****_Damsel In Despair: The Emily Dickinson Story_**** as one of her greatest accomplishments.**

**As for ****_Twin Peaks_**** and ****_LA Law_****, well...they had to be "classy" stuff on the air around that time...and ****_St. Elsewhere_**** is apparently linked to the ****_Cheers_**** universe, or something.**

* * *

Sam leaned back in his seat and chuckled, "You know something?"

Diane leaned to his direction with a smile, "What?"

"You know this place reminds me of _Melville's_?"

Diane laughed, "Well, now that you mention it, I suppose it _is_ somewhat reminiscent."

"Yeah…." Sam nodded as he cut another bite from his dinner—a fried fish basket and fries that he never got the reason for being called "chips". They were _fries_—he knew what _chips_ were. Diane had insisted that that's what the British called them. She didn't know what name they gave chips. Whatever….

Diane nodded, looking off, "Yes, I have…quite fond memories of _Melville's_. You recall our—little dessert session?"

Sam chuckled, "Dessert _session_?"

Diane shrugged, "Well, I suppose one _would_ call it a 'date', but would you call the term apropos?"

"That means 'appropriate', right?"

"More or less."

"Right…well, you got a point, there. Yeah, that was great cheesecake—they have that kinda thing, here?"

"I believe so."

"Great. Yeah…" Sam sighed with a smirk, "You know, I guess I'm a little jealous, huh?"

Diane chuckled, "Why is that?"

"Your memories of _Melville's_ are all pretty much _good_."

Diane frowned, "You've…had less-than-fond experiences, I take it?"

"Yeah…not too long after I got the bar back, some _jerk_ bought the place—and you're gonna love this: turns out the deed to _Melville's_ included the pool room and the bathrooms."

"Of _Cheers_?!"

"Yep."

"My word—how did _that_ happen?"

"I dunno—he said something about it once being part of _Melville's_, and it never changed hands—anyway, like I said, he's a big jerk, and he just _tortured_ me into paying him _rent_. How great is that? I just got back my bar, and then I lose half of it to the smuggest, slimiest tyrant I've ever met."

"You let him get _away_ with that?"

"Well, geez, what else could I do?—the deed was for real…I guess everyone just forgot about it, until then. Anyway, that's all over—I got it all back, don't worry. Made an idiot of myself to do him a _favor_ or two, but I got it all back."

Diane shook her head with a smile, "Well, I'm…sorry I missed all of that."

Sam looked off, nodding, "Yeah…figures. I'll bet you could've spared us a lot of trouble."

"Well, if the deed was genuine, Sam, I doubt it."

"No, I just mean how I'd have handled it."

Diane chuckled, "I see. So, then, what else has happened to everyone?"

Sam paused for a moment. What to tell her? What _could_ he tell her about all the things that had happened—to him, and to all the others—since she had left…? To be honest, he wasn't sure it was all that believable, himself. How could he tell her about _why_ he'd sold the bar…or about Rebecca, who didn't know the first thing about running a bar and refused to admit it—and Sam's never-ending efforts to outsmart that woman's gold-digging pining for Evan Drake and Robin Colcord? How could he begin to talk about Eddie LeBec, who'd only been Carla's latest boyfriend, the last Diane knew—whom Carla had married, who'd "retired" from the Bruins and became a professional ice skater (in a _penguin_ suit!)…and then had died, leaving behind not just Carla but _another_ wife? How could he tell her about Henri, and _his_ making Woody's life miserable with those "jokes" about stealing—?

And then Sam smiled, as he leaned to Diane, "Woody has a girlfriend."

Diane smiled warmly, "Oh, he has?"

"Yeah, her name's Kelly. You'd love her—she's a real sweetheart. Her dad's rich, too."

"I don't suppose I'd have heard of him? My father was quite influential…."

"Uh…Gaines. Walter Gaines."

"Hmm…well, I don't recall the name. But still!—Woody is in love with an heiress?"

"Yeah. Her old man's not exactly buddy-material, but—yeah, she's a sweet kid. Not much between the ears, though—she makes Woody look like a genius."

"_Sam_!" Diane chided.

"Well, it's the truth!—I'm pretty sure it's got to do with her dad keeping her all sheltered, but—"

"Sam Malone, I was quite 'protected' myself, in my childhood—"

"Yeah, but for how long? She was in a _bubble_ until she met Woody."

Diane smiled, "Well…you're right about one thing, Sam: it does sound very sweet…."

"You said it…" Sam looked off again, and then returned to his fish.

"After all," Diane went on, "It sounds such a monument to the…innocence of true love—how it can defy such things as…_class_ and upbringing, and the gap between differing 'cultures', if you will. In point of fact, I'm somehow reminded of an old—"

"Diane…"

Diane sighed, and nodded, "I know…there I go again."

Sam smiled at her, "Actually, I…guess I kinda miss that."

Diane looked at him, her eyes tugging at his heart with their eagerness, desperately suppressed by caution. After all this time, Sam could still read her pretty good—pretty _well_, whatever.

After a moment, Sam shrugged, "Well, he wrote a song for her, a few years back, for her birthday."

Diane's face lit up with her smile, "Oh, Sam! That's so _sweet_!"

"Yeah, that's the word for it. I'd say 'You should've been there', but—y'know…"

Diane sighed again, and smiled sadly.

"So, uh…" Sam smiled, "How've you been?"

"Oh, um—quite well, thank you. I've done rather well for myself—as you saw."

"Yeah, that's a nice place you got. You know—I've often wondered what I'd have done with myself, if I hadn't drank away my game…became a big star, that kinda thing. Guess I could've seen myself living on the beach…."

Diane shrugged, and smiled, "Again, Sam, I would hardly call myself—"

"Hey, I never said you _were_."

"Well—I didn't say you did!"

Sam smiled.

"Nonetheless, I _have_ had quite a career—writing independent films, some television, that sort of thing."

"TV, huh? Any shows I'd have seen?"

"I doubt it."

"C'mon, try me."

"So, then, you would've watched a miniseries on Emily Dickinson?" Diane asked in amusement.

Sam chuckled, "Point taken."

"Well, I _have_ been invited to write for _Twin Peaks_—have you heard of that?"

"I heard of it—mystery show, right?"

"In a sense. I didn't accept; I personally find David Lynch to be excessively attached to the surreal—and frankly quite pretentious about it, at times."

"Yeah, I saw _Dune_—pretty weird. I kinda liked it, though."

"Yes, well…he does has his moments—I just doubt I could ever write for him effectively. But I _have_ written some for _L.A. Law_."

"No kidding!"

"Well, I do have some academic knowledge of pre-law. Fortunately, the staff was able to compensate for the gaps in my expertise."

"Uh-huh. Any shows of your own?"

Diane chuckled, "Aside from my aforementioned miniseries? I may have written a pilot or two—not much came of them, but they did lead to the occasional invitation."

"Hey, now, didn't you once say something about wanting to do that? The miniseries, I mean—Emily Dickinson."

"Well, I'm sure I may have talked about it over the years…." Diane smiled at him as she straightened in her seat. "All, right, Sam—how have things fared for you?"

"Well, I told you about the bar—yeah, other than _that _guy, I'd say life's been good."

Diane blinked and frowned, "Really, Sam? Has—has life been good for you…?"

"Well, hey, why not? My life's pretty full, I guess."

He hoped he sounded convincing.

Apparently not enough, because Diane didn't look too reassured, "Well, um…"

"Yeah, I got all this great stuff in my life going on…"

"Like—what?"

Sam shrugged, "Oh, well, you know…lots of stuff. Like I said, I got the bar, and it's all great—the kind of life that lets you just kick back and hang out with the guys…."

"But—you're not with the others, now—you're _here_."

Sam let out a scoff. "Come on, what—what are you doing, Diane? What do you want from me?"

"I don't know…" Diane sighed, "It's only—it's such a surprise—a pleasant one, don't misunderstand, but…"

"You want to know what I'm doing here?"

"No, I—oh, Sam, it's not like _that_. I only mean—"

"Well, why get so personal? I didn't ask _you_ anything more than about your job—you want _me_ to start digging? Start asking about how you've been 'feeling' over the years?"

Diane stiffened, her lip tightened, and she started blinking again.

_Oh, real smooth, Sammy._ Sam shook his head, "Oh…sweetheart, I—"

"No," Diane shook her head, "I…I suppose I deserve that."

"No, look, honey, I'm sorry; I don't know what came over me—"

Diane sighed, her gaze lowered as she leaned back in her seat. "Sam, I don't blame you. Under the circumstances, I'm sure _I_ would be mad at me."

Sam swallowed, and tried his best to look confident, "Aw, come on, Diane—even if I had a reason to be mad, I wouldn't have _time_: so much to _do_…you know?"

Diane shook her head again, and looked at him. "Sam," she said, "I _don't_ blame you. I…I'd given you my _word_, hadn't I?"

_Hoo, boy_…. Sam sighed, and smiled sadly. "Come on…_I_ told you I wasn't holding you to—"

"Well, I _was_. The last time we saw each other, I said I would return in _six months_. And I _meant_ to! But…" She shook her head, and blinked a little more.

Sam nodded, "You said it was complicated—"

"Well, one _might_ say that: the publishers _rejected_ my novel—I never found out why, exactly. But then my agent suggested I…" she smiled a little "…trim a few thousand pages—"

Sam returned the mild smirk.

"—and make it into a screenplay." She shrugged, "After I last called you, I…followed his advice."

"Diane, look, I _said_ I didn't hold you to—"

Diane's eyes welled up, "I didn't want to come back until I was _successful_, Sam…! But then—six month became a year, and…well, by then, it was too _late_."

Sam swallowed, and shook his head, "Diane…I didn't want that either—you know that. If you'd come back and told me you were giving up—I wouldn't have been able to take it, okay?"

"I know…" she whispered.

Sam stared down at what was left of his platter, and pushed it to the side. He wasn't too hungry anymore.

"What are we doing?" he asked, as he looked at her.

Diane said nothing.

"Look…I mean, it was for the best—we both knew that. Yeah, it was fun when it lasted, but…come on, you really think it'd have really worked out—?"

Diane swallowed, and shook her head, "I don't know, Sam—all I know is…all I—" her gaze lowered as she blinked back her tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Sam nodded slowly. "It's okay."

When she gathered herself and met his gaze, Diane went on, "Sam…you said, when you stopped our—our wedding…you said that you didn't want to doom me to always asking 'What if'. _Well_—ironically enough, I've often found myself doing exactly _that_. 'What if?'… What _if_…that phone didn't ring, when it did?—Or what if…you didn't stop us? What if—I didn't _let_ you convince me to give the right answer to the _wrong_ question?"

Sam said nothing. "The wrong question"….

_"So…do you agree, that we—shouldn't get married?"_

_An eternity's pause…and then…"I do."_

Sam stiffened. _Oh, great._

Diane shook her head, "Don't you ever think that, maybe…perhaps…it was a mistake?"

Sam looked off for a moment—and forced a chuckle as he looked at her, "Sure picked a heck of a time to ask me _that_."

Diane nodded slowly, and said, "Well—for what it's worth, Sam, I _don't_ have a 'full life'. Not in any real sense. I…have my fair share of friends—I have my career, and I'd like to think I'm quite successful at it. But…it just isn't—it isn't the same."

"The _same_? Diane, what did you have?—this was your _dream_! You're writing, you're a _known_ writer, people see what you write, and it gets them right _here_. You wanted to be a _voice_,didn't you? Well, now you are! So what did you have at the _bar_, huh?"

Diane's eyes welled up again. "Sam…" she managed to whisper.

"Oh, geez…" Sam reached over with his napkin, and dabbed at the tears. Diane let him, closing her eyes and then blinking when he was done.

"Sweetheart," Sam softly went on, "It was better you went off, okay? Look, um…I guess it was dumb of me to show up, huh?—you got a great life here, and I pop up out of nowhere and screw it all up—"

"You _didn't_," Diane said, and gave another smile amid the hint of new tears. "Sam…I'm glad you're here. Truly…I am."

Sam nodded, and shared a smile with her. He only wished they could feel it on the inside, too.

* * *

They barely conversed after that—well, _meaningfully_, anyway—before they returned to Diane's house. Diane pointed out various sites along the boulevards of Hollywood—along with little tidbits of information about them. But it all was but a smokescreen for the emotions conjured by their exchange in the restaurant…and they both knew it, all too well.

When they arrived back at the house and re-entered, Diane momentarily forgot to look for the light switch, first. She let out a yelp as her foot hit something and she _tripped_—

Thank heaven, Sam was right there to catch her before it became more than a mere stumble.

"Oh, my—I'm sorry—"

"No, no," Sam held her for a moment…and Diane struggled to will her body's desires not to respond too much to the feeling of his hands on her waist, "You okay?"

Diane nodded, with an embarrassed smile as she found her footing, "I…suppose I should look where I'm going."

Sam chuckled…but Diane saw his smile freeze when his gaze moved a little down.

_Oh_… And Diane realized that the thin gold string necklace she wore was now visible—especially what was now dangling in front. As she straightened up, Sam reached out and held the ring in his hand. Diane swallowed, unable to look at him for long.

Sam stared at the gold ring, with its diamonds—one large, a smaller one on either side of it. He stiffened after a moment…and Diane felt herself responding in kind.

And then Sam looked at her, stunned, his lip fighting a quiver. "Diane…" he whispered, "Is—is this…?"

She nodded, swallowing.

"After all this time, you…?"

"I—said I would never take it off me, Sam." She forced a smile, and shrugged, "Well, I…I suppose I am _capable_ of…keeping my word, huh?"

Sam just looked at her sadly, with a smile. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said.

_"Sweetheart"._ He'd said it a few times already, today…but now, suddenly, it carried with it a new weight—or not so new; she remembered the endearing air with which he'd so often said it, when they were together…the air now restored, in this moment.

Diane felt her smile grow, and blinked away the welling of her eyes at the stirring of new feelings within—the realization of his acknowledgement, with this moment.

And then Sam seemed to bristle a little, and looked off, clearing her throat. "Well, uh…"

"Yes, I—believe we should be…turning in, as were, for the night."

Sam nodded at her with a small smile, "Probably a good idea."

Diane turned and walked to her room—

"Hey, uh," Sam called out in a lighthearted tone, "So you _never_ take off that necklace?"

Diane chuckled as she paused and turned to him. "Gold is waterproof, Sam, if that's why you're concerned."

"No, that's not it," Sam said with a wicked smirk. "I was just wondering if you wore it to bed."

Diane snorted, tilting her head as she gave him a Look. "Good _night_, Sam."

Sam nodded, his smile warming. "Good night, Diane."

And they went into their separate rooms—Diane feeling her heartbeat quicken. After all this time…those flirtations from him could still stir her up inside—and in the best possible way.

_Ah, well…_plus ça change_, as they say,_ plus c'est la même chose ….

* * *

**Note: For those not as well-up on the original French as our beloved Diane, "The more things change, the more they stay the same..."**


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: This chapter and the next are VERY short-but don't worry; there's another biggie coming up.**

* * *

Stupid time zones, throwing everything out of whack. It hadn't seemed to matter before—but Sam had a feeling _that_ was just because he and the guys had been driving around on the road without much of a timetable—getting up and resting as they all saw fit.

At any rate, when he woke up, showered, shaved, dressed, and freshened up his cologne—he walked out of the guest room to find he was alone.

There was a note on the dining room table, with a flowing handwriting he remembered and—he was suddenly reminded—loved. Not surprisingly, the whole thing ran a couple of pages. And the more Sam read, the more he felt his smile grow:

* * *

_Dear Sam,_

_I'm afraid I didn't quite have the heart to wake you—"time zones" and all that. Anyway, I'm off—I'll be at the studio for much of the day. I've just turned in a screenplay and I have high hopes. Wish me luck!_

_I should return some time in the evening, at the latest. In the meantime, I hope you'll find what I have in the kitchen to your liking. I'd prefer you not "order out" anything: the last time a guest did so, an unfortunate air lingered for a while about the place—chortle, chortle. In all seriousness, if you somehow find nothing appealing to your tastes and therefore _must_ order something, please take care and ensure the aftermath is done away with promptly. I can't say I __quite__ care for the mental image of leftover pizza slices in the refrigerator_….

_But I digress. I suppose the point is, don't feel you must second-guess yourself as to whether you can touch anything. My house is yours—proverbially speaking, of course. Just ensure things remain clean._

_Faithfully yours,_

_Diane_

_P.S. The television has a channel guide. I don't know whether a game of any kind is being waged today—my apologies. You would certainly know more on that end than I._

_P.P.S I already fed Christopher and Raymond—that's the puppy, Raymond Chandler. Under NO circumstances are they to be fed until I return. Be forewarned, they almost certainly __will__ try and manipulate you to that effect—Raymond in particular amuses himself by trying to guilt my guests. But then, as you once told me you had a dog at one time, yourself—you'd probably anticipate such. There are "treats" for them, specifically marked—but again, kindly don't spoil them. Raymond has already "been out", if you will, this morning—you don't need to partake in any responsibilities; I hardly think that would have been fair of me to do that_….

_P.P.P.S. In case you are wondering, my stuffed friends are specifically hidden—I think they're afraid of you._

_P.P.P.P.S. __Remember__, granola is sufficiently filling that you need only to fill a bowl __halfway__._

_My word, I might as well re-sign this. See you anon, mon cheri!_

_Diane_

* * *

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "That's my girl," he said.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: And now for Diane-another "quickie", if you will. BIG one tomorrow...**

* * *

The truth was, Diane had another reason for making sure not to wake Sam. To be perfectly blunt, the tensions of the night before were such that simply "sleeping on it" was not quite sufficient. She needed some time to _herself_…so as to gather herself, her thoughts, her feelings…. And so, she left for the studio much earlier than she had to.

She found a spot near the door of a soundstage—in which, of all things, a situational comedy was being filmed, before a live studio audience. As she sat down on the bench and leaned back against the outer wall, she closed her eyes and relaxed, listening. She couldn't make much out—but she strongly suspected it was the homage to Lucille Ball the studio had been trying to sell to one of the networks…hearkening to classical style long all-but-forgotten. She _could_ make out that the audience currently loved every minute of it.

She remained like this for some time, until hearing a familiar voice: "Diane?"

Diane opened her eyes and smiled, "Robert!"

Robert Smithers took a seat beside her. "You're here early."

"Oh, I thought it'd be preferable to…arrive early."

"I see—after a period of heavy work, you realized you now have nothing better to do?"

Diane somehow managed not to lose her smile, as she shrugged. "Well, believe it or not, I thought it would be ideal to clear my head, as it were."

Smithers chuckled, and pointed to the stage door with his thumb, "Been listening in?"

Diane chuckled, "Guilty, I suppose. Is it what I think it is?"

"Well, at the very least, they decided if the networks won't take it, we'll put it on our channel-to-be."

"I see. I wonder if, perhaps, you'd happen to have a few writing positions open…."

Smithers chuckled, "Eager to get back into a schedule?"

"Hmm—not _that_, so much as I don't believe I've tried my hand on that sort of thing—a situational comedy, I mean. It should prove interesting."

"You have any experience?"

"Oh, believe me, Robert—I could tell you anecdotes of certain experiences of _mine_ that in hindsight could make one's sides split. Proverbially, of course."

Smithers chuckled again, and shrugged, "Well, I would suggest you wait until the first several episodes are filmed—then watch them, and see if the premise and characters appeal to you."

"Of course."

"But to be honest, that _might_ conflict with the news I have."

Diane stared at him, "You spoke with the others?"

"Well, I was _planning_ on telling you over lunch."

"Well…" Diane checked her watch, "It's getting near then—I'm sure a few minute's difference won't hurt, now would it?"

Smithers smiled, and shrugged, "Shall we, then?"

"Well, it depends. Is it good news?"

"Oh, I'd like to think I'm not cruel enough to make you wait like _this_ if I had bad news."

"They accepted it?!" Diane let out in delight.

Smithers laughed as he stood. "Let's discuss it over _lunch_—as we promised."

Diane rose to her feet. "To lunch."


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: Okay, the next sequence is pretty long. So, I split it in two. As you can imagine, this is where things get intense.**

**By the way...anyone make any guesses yet as to exactly ****_what_**** the screenplay of Diane's is...?**

* * *

By the time evening came, it started to rain. After a short while, it started coming down hard.

Sam let out a sigh as he turned off the television, leaning back in the couch. Suddenly, he didn't feel like watching anything.

Raymond—Diane's puppy—rushed over to him, whimpering a little.

Sam sighed again, petting him a bit, "Hey, boy …don't worry—she'll be fine, huh?"

Ray sniffed a bit, and seemed to shrug as he headed off.

Sam chuckled, shaking her head. Despite Diane's written warning about how spoiled he could act around strangers, the truth was he and Sam hit it off pretty well. There was a little worn-out ball, and they'd played out back on the beach a bit, before the clouds started looking bad. Sam was pretty darn sure "Ray" was more than a little surprised at how far he threw it—or maybe it was just Sam's imagination getting the better of him; after all, he'd seen Diane try to throw…and the only time he remembered her hitting her target was the one time she _didn't_ want to hit it.

_Good old Coach…_

The thought of Coach made him let out another sad gust of air. Coach…his best friend, the second, _better_ father.

_And Diane's, too—well, I don't know "better", but…she _did_ say he was like another father, I remember._

Just like he remembered when she was going off with Frasier to Europe…and Coach had taken Sam aside, and told him how he'd always imagined that _he_, Sam, would be the one to marry Diane…and they'd live happily ever after, with Coach living with them as a grandfather to their kids….

_Oh great—now, why did I have to start thinking about that? That kinda thing's the _last_ thing I should be—_

He heard a fiddling at the lock of the main door—and a rapid knock at the same time. Sam shot to his feet and rushed to the door—not realizing until he undid the lock how frantic his actions were.

It was Diane, of course—letting out a quick cough as Sam pulled her in out of the rain. "Sweetheart—!" he began.

"I-I'm fine, Sam, I'm just…"

"Yeah, I can imagine—you sure you're okay?" In his quick pitcher's eye, Sam rapidly took in that she didn't have a rain coat—just a woman's suit, knee-length skirt and all. She had a wide circular hat, though, and its brim was such that her hair was pretty much dry. Her suit jacket was drenched, though. And she was shivering a little.

Diane nodded quickly, smiling up at him. "I'll _be_ fine, anyway. Just…" she began taking off the jacket—Sam made sure to help her and it was off in a jiffy. Her blouse was maybe a little damp, but nothing a few minutes indoors wouldn't fix.

Sam took the jacket, "I'll put this up, huh—you just sit down."

"Yes…thank you, Sam…" she said, as she headed over to the couch, stumbling a little from clear exhaustion. Diane collapsed into the cushions, letting out a sigh…her head resting back and to the side.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he put the coat on the rack. _That's my girl_.

He headed over to her, reaching out, "Okay, let's…" He moved to take hold of her legs and her back.

Diane half-raised her hand, "No, I'm all right—"

"No-no, come on—let's get you…" He took hold of her gently, and she let him move her so that she lay down—Sam made sure to place a pillow between her head and the couch's arm. "How's that?"

Diane blinked, and squinted for a moment. Then she shrugged and nodded, "Thank you, Sam."

"Hey, no problem—okay, sweetheart, let's get these off…" He moved to near her feet—

Diane moved to half-sit up, and brought her knees close, "Now, wait just a moment—tired or not, I'm _hardly_ out of proverbial commission—I can take off my _own_ shoes, thank you—"

Sam gently put his hand on her knee with a smile as he sat down on the now-vacant spot, "Come on, it's not like that. I just want _you_ to take it easy for a bit—I know 'all drained up' when I see it. You exhausted, honey—take a load off, and let me help."

"But—"

"I'm _not_ gonna take 'no' for an answer."

"Sam, don't be ridiculous—"

"I'd say that's my line, right now. Take a rest—and while we're at it, baby, that includes your voice box."

Diane scoffed, but shifted a little so she could rest comfortably, her back against the pillow against the arm. She relaxed in that position, and smiled at him.

Sam took off Diane's shoes, one after the other—high-heels; he could never understand how women wore those things without stumbling (not that he ever complained about they looked with them on). He put them upright on the coffee table, next to each other.

He smirked at her, giving her feet a pat, "Need me to—"

"_No_, thank you—as of now, most of the stress I feel is in my head."

Sam frowned, "Headache?"

"No, it's…well, only what you said, more or less. An outdoor pool in _winter_ would wish to be as drained as I am, at this moment."

"I've seen pools keeping the water—good spot for ice skating."

"_Sam_…"

Sam chuckled, "Don't worry; I know what you're talking about…. Sorry, that wasn't hot of me—you're in no condition for one of our rounds…."

"Thank you."

"Sure. So, what's wrong? Other than the rain, I mean."

Diane relaxed again, "Oh, it's not as though anything's _wrong_, per se—it's…oh, I don't know how I can…"

"Just tell me what's happened—that usually works."

"All right; well…yesterday morning, I—you read my note, of course."

"Yeah, I did; kinda long for a note, don't you think?"

"Yes, well…as you probably recall reading, I finished my latest screenplay."

"Yeah, I remember—new movie, huh?"

"Well, yes—a television movie, much akin to the network tradition of…"

"Yeah, I know about that."

"I supposed you would. But this is hardly the same fare as your typical Saturday Night special—it's to be on a cable channel, geared to a more…artistic bent."

"Oh, art-house stuff?"

"Well, in my case, it's the sort of thing more inclined to character-oriented _drama_—hardly the sort of 'action' or comedy fair you'd probably be used to…."

Sam smiled, "Ever saw _Brian's Song_?"

Diane smirked, "_Sam_…this is _me_ you're addressing. I believe that is a _football_ movie?"

"Well, believe it or not, I'll bet you'd like it. It's not like a _football_-football film—sure, the two guys are on a team, but it's about _them_. They're two guys who begin not standing each other, but become close buddies—like 'friend-brothers' or something, and…oh, forget it—but the thing is: legend has it, that movie's known for making even tough, macho guys start _crying_."

Diane's smile grew. "Did you?"

"I was with a bunch of guys when we saw it—a lot of 'em sure _looked_ like they were fighting something."

"But were _you_?"

"I'm allergic to that kind of movie."

Diane chuckled, as she shifted her legs a little. "Well, if it's _that_ heartfelt…"

"Oh, they don't get any more 'heartfelt' than _that_, sweetheart."

"Well, I suppose I might look at it, some time. But back to _my_ account…" Diane shifted her legs a little, again, "_The Heart Held Hostage_—that's…the title, Sam—"

"Yeah, figures."

"Well, at any rate…it's the tale of a resilient mother who must raise her six children alone—and aside from the general hardships, she finds her family increasingly pressured by…the criminal element."

"Criminal?—like, uh…what?"

"Well, organized crime—"

Sam fought to keep from laughing, "Whoa!—you, Diane…a _gangster_ flick?"

Diane huffed, "I did _not_ write a 'gangster _flick_'," she shot back, rolling her eyes. "The mob only appears as a dark, ominous _force_ against which the mother must struggle and triumph. It's…" she shrugged, "I suppose one might classify it a _noir_, if you will."

"Funny, I didn't hear anything about a private eye."

"_Sam_—a private investigator is _not_ required to have a film be—"

"Yeah, you're right; I've seen _Double Indemnity_."

Diane calmed down at this, and replied, "Well, then, have you seen _Mildred Pierce_?"

"I…dunno. Maybe."

"Well…that was _one_ inspiration—though the mother in my film could hardly be considered wealthy—"

"Hey, hold on a minute…" Sam grinned, "Six kids?"

Diane's smile turned coy. "Yes…?"

"And you're talking about the _mob_."

"Are you asking me something, Sam?"

"So does that mean the mother's Italian, by any chance?"

Diane chuckled, "Sam…"

"You know, I wonder if Carla's gonna get worked up hearing that you made a movie about her."

"Oh, I'm sure she'd prefer _not_ to make a big fuss over it—really, would she _dare_ call attention to the fact that she and I are acquainted?"

Sam laughed at this. "Oh, come on!"

"Besides, it's not as though this film is some sort of 'revenge' on my part—my protagonist is hailed as immensely sympathetic."

"Oh, boy—you didn't soften her up, did you?"

"Not in the _slightest_."

"Well, that's a relief."

"I actually wrote the climax with the thought of 'Would Carla fantasize about doing this?' _firmly_ entrenched in my mind."

"Oh, yeah? What happens?"

"Sam! They haven't begun _filming_, yet! If you think for a moment I'd tell—"

"Oh…so, you think I'd spoil it?"

"I don't know—I just make it a point to avoid discussing such matters with _anyone_, Sam—no matter how _close_ a friend, or…what have you."

"Okay. Fair enough. Sounds great, anyway. So, what does…all this got to do with your being all burnt out?"

Diane let out a tired sigh—not in response, just tired, "Oh, let's see: I have just finished writing a most intense, emotion-ridden, one might say _dark_ sort of story—the sort which would _naturally_ incur an immensely high emotional toll."

"You seemed okay, before."

"I know…call it a delayed reaction, I suppose. But you're right, in a sense—it usually isn't this severe. But then…it's not often that the _day_ after I turn in a script—_early_, in this case—I am asked to write another."

"You need to recharge."

"Essentially. But the executive in question loved what I wrote so much, he has announced the studio will freely allow me to choose my next project—just so long as it would be finished in, and I quote, 'A reasonable amount of time'—which essentially means, 'by the time _The Heart Held Hostage_ is broadcast'."

"_Hmm_," Sam nodded, "And how long until then?"

"Well, give or take the typical sort of shooting schedule and post-production, and delays thereof…a year at _most_."

"Ouch."

"And that is hardly the worst: amid my endeavors writing this screenplay, I encountered the daughter of Sylvia Plath—the poetess, Sam. I'm sure I…"

"Yeah, you did—something about a 'bell jar'."

"Exactly. Her daughter and I, as you might say, 'hit it off', and…" another slight shift of her legs, "Well…I _might_ have promised her that, following my finishing the project on which I was currently working…I would _devote_ my every ounce of creative energy into writing a biopic of her mother—a monument to a great and wonderful artist, amidst the tragedy of her life."

Sam paused, mulled over this, and said, "Ouch."

"Oh, but I intend to! I gave that woman my word, Sam, and when Diane Cha—"

She froze, and tensed with a flinch, avoiding Sam's gaze.

"Hey," Sam said, putting his hand on her knee again, making sure to smile. "It's fine. I get that."

Diane turned to him, looking as if her eyes were about to well up.

Sam kept his smile, "I mean it."

Diane nodded, blinking away the near-tears but still a little on edge, "Well…at any rate, I don't know how I'll manage to fulfill both obligations."

"Hey…you just said the exec guy loves what you do—just tell him it'll take longer than this one, and do it quick—you'll be fine!"

Diane sighed and nodded, "You may be right, Sam. It's only…" she looked off, "I was looking forward to a period of rest, so as to, as you put it, 'recharge'…to replenish my creative energies. 'A spirit, too, needs fuel. It can run dry.'"

"That a quote at the end?" Sam smirked.

Diane chuckled, "It's from a play I read, once."

"Good one?"

Diane shrugged, "Perhaps. I've never seen it performed. From what I've heard, it's _never_ been performed—not officially, anyway."

"Well, look…" Sam said in a warm tone, "If you need a break, take it—he'll understand. Heck, he'll _have_ to if he wants you to keep working for _his_ group."

"I suppose…" Diane shifted her legs once again.

Sam frowned. "You okay?"

"Hmm?—Oh!" Diane chuckled, "Sorry, I…I'm a tad concerned about my circulation. You're aware—when one's foot falls asleep, only here, I…well, in this case—" Diane paused for a moment, and shrugged, "I'm probably worrying myself over nothing, but—"

"Nylons acting up?" Sam asked. The truth was, with all her shifting, Diane's skirt had fallen back a little, so that Sam was able to catch a glimpse of where the stockings ended. He'd been trying his hardest not to take in this full view of her legs…though, considering they were _Diane_'s—long, slender, soft and graceful—it wasn't the easiest thing to do.

Diane finally saw it, and quickly tugged down—or "up", whatever—the edge of her skirt, her eyes wide and her face clearly fighting a blush. She cleared her throat. "Well, um…"

Sam chuckled. "Okay—look, sweetheart, I'll, uh…let you—"

Diane raised her hand with a sigh, "Oh, it's not as though it isn't a familiar sight to you." She gave him a small, slightly embarrassed smile. "But I'll admit, I'm not exactly used to being seated in this sort of position while dressed in _this_ manner."

"Especially when they're all soaked?"

Diane's blush deepened. "Yes, well…I had to traverse a few large puddles on the way to the car—_and_ to the door."

Sam shrugged, "To bad I didn't tag along."

Diane smiled mischievously, the color in her cheeks returning to normal, "So that you could have carried me?"

Sam shrugged with a smile, and stood up, walking over to the other arm of the couch, where Diane was sitting back. He reached over to the back of her necklace—the pearls, not the thin gold one with the engagement ring.

Diane chuckled and looked up at him, "This really isn't necessary—I can certainly do all this myself—"

"Sure, but you're burnt out, remember?" Sam undid the necklace and gently took it in his hands. "Where should I…?"

"Oh, you can put it on the table, by the shoes—_Sam_, this is silly! I hardly need you to dote upon me like this—I am not _helpless_."

Sam set the pearls down by the shoes, and grinned at her, "You know what's funny?"

"Aside from your antics at the moment?"

"You know…most other women, I wouldn't ever _think_ of this kind of 'doting'—the last thing I'd need is word getting out that I'm part sap—"

"Oh, _Sam_…."

"You know, if you're gonna rest here for much longer, I'd better take that watch. Hey, is that a Rolex, by the way?"

Diane rolled her eyes as she took the watch off. "As though I would be so _lavish_ with everyday 'professional' wear."

Sam took it and set it down with the rest. "Well, the point is, I'm pretty sure you're the only woman I'd be willing to do this for. I mean, _you_ can keep this kind of secret. Right?"

Diane made a zip motion across her lips.

"Good to know. Okay…you just rest right there, do what you gotta do—I'll see if there isn't something warm—maybe some milk?"

"Sam!" Diane shook her head, chuckling.

Sam shrugged, smiling innocently, "Well, _I'm_ a little thirsty, anyway."

Diane shrugged, "In that case, I suppose…some tea would be nice."

"You got it," Sam went right to the kitchen, getting to work.


	10. Chapter 10

**Note: And now, we'll end for the week with this. I hope it'll be enough to sustain everyone until Monday. Enjoy!**

**(BTW, a couple quick notes. First-I'd forgotten to mention this, but the play Diane quotes from, last chapter-"A spirit, too, needs fuel", etc.-is _Ideal_, by Ayn Rand. Diane's no Objectivist, certainly...but I think she'd probably appreciate Rand's advocacy for Romanticism in art.**

**Second-for the following "chapter", I had actually written it, sort of, to Gustav Holst's "Venus, The Bringer Of Peace". I'm not too sure it fits the "pacing" of the scene...but it certainly fits the mood, I think.)**

* * *

Two mugs—a bag of tea, each: "Earl Grey"…Sam wasn't sure he ever tried it; the label just said it was British, and Sam was sure he remembered Captain Picard on _Star Trek_ loving "Tea, Earl Grey—Hot".

Whatever. It was tea.

He heard a shuffle of fur—and there was Christopher on the counter, watching.

Sam sighed, and spread out his hands. "What am I doing, huh?" he asked quietly.

Christopher said nothing.

"What am I thinking…? What does she think this—oh, forget it; I dunno…" Sam muttered as he filled the teapot and set it.

Christopher looked at his free hand, and pawed at it.

Sam chuckled, and shook his head, "You're really something, you know that?"

Christopher looked up at him.

"Okay…let's pretend for a moment you know what the heck I'm saying. Is she really as alone as she's coming across, right now?"

The cat tilted his head.

"Sure, you can't talk. Okay…geez, this is nuts—okay, would it be too much to say, 'Meow for yes, yawn for no'?"

"Mew!"

"That mean 'meow' it's too much, or 'meow' she's alone—?"

Christopher snuggled up to his hand, and Sam found himself petting the furball, despite himself. Christopher let out a purr.

_Yeah, he likes me…and I'm not even a cat guy—I'm a dog guy!_

Sam chuckled despite himself, as he leaned to the cat, "Hey…you know, if you ever find a girl—uh, you're not fixed, are you?"

Christopher stopped, giving him what looked like a _really_ severe Look.

"Okay, forget I said it…anyway, _you_ ever find a girl, make sure you got a good idea what she wants, okay?"

The cat looked off—and jumped down, to near Sam's feet. Christopher pressed his head against Sam's ankle—in the direction of the living room.

Sam shook his head, "Okay…okay—I know it's not like you're telling me something—you're just a cat; you're just playing around. But you know what—if you have a point, I'd say you're sure making it."

The pot started sounding off. Christopher looked up at him, head tilted again. Sam could swear the cat was thinking, "_Well_, then…?"

Sam let out a sigh, and went to work, turning off the pot and filling the two mugs. He carried them over to the couch, setting them on the table, where Diane could reach hers. He'd have handed it to her…but she was using both hands to try and work one of the nylons off. She clearly didn't want them to end up inside out. At any rate, she wasn't making any progress from the looks of it—the darn things were all but sticking to her skin.

Finally, she huffed, giving up and leaning back, eyes closed, "Forget it," she muttered…her voice sounding like it was trailing off.

Sam smiled warmly at her. _You _are_ tired, aren't you, sweetheart?_

"Okay…" he whispered, as he sat back down…and went to work where she was leaving off…inching it gently, so as not to disturb her. In the process, he found his hands moving up and down her leg…all the way up to just past where the nylon stopped, way up her thigh.

Sam managed to suppress a swallow. _Take it easy, Sammy_…. But this was Diane, for goodness sake—driving him crazy just by being there. The fact that he was getting reacquainted with her legs was just—

_Stop it_, he mused, as he kept on working.

He was about halfway done with the first one, when something made him look up—and discover that Diane was watching him silently.

Sam froze for a moment, and chuckled as he let go, "Okay," he said, calmly, "If I said it's not how it—"

Diane reached out and laid her hand on his…and she gave that little amused smile of hers. "Sam," she said, warmly—gratefully.

Sam returned the smile…and let her move his hand back. She moved her hand away, and relaxed again, leaning back, resting her head on the couch arm, closing her eyes.

_Geez._ Now Sam's mind was _really_ going crazy. But he went back to work…and within a few minutes, that stocking was off.

"Okay, now the other one," he muttered. This time, there was less worry—she'd given him permission, after all. Gently moving his hand down with the end of the material…feeling the warmth of her, taking in the softness…

"Oh, my…" he heard her whisper—in dreamy, vacant…_excitement_…laying back, her eyes open but looking at nothing in particular.

Sam's emotions started racing, and he had to fight to keep his cool. _How do you do that, Diane? Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?_

Maybe not…but Sam had a pretty darn good idea what he was doing to _her_. And that thought just stirred him up inside even more.

_Just…get _done_!_

He finally did…smoothed the hosiery out, and set them on the table. He turned to her. Diane was sitting up again, hugging herself, staring down into her lap. She swallowed, and met his gaze. With the vulnerable girlishness of her actions, Sam found himself reading in her face, _It…it's been so long, since a man touched me like this...stir up these feelings within me—these passions, these…sensations._

Sam smiled at her, "You okay?"

Diane nodded, "Thank you, Sam," she said in a small, soft voice.

Always something so innocent about her…something that tugged at his heart, bringing out his protectiveness towards her. Even when they were unleashing all their mutual passion, it didn't quell that part of her—it made their intimacy always something deeply beautiful and meaningful. Sam often wondered if that had been part of it—what made it so that no woman could ever satisfy him like Diane Chambers could: the fact that she saw "physical love" as something _high_, and pure, and even something…spiritual? Well, what the heck—he'd often found himself thinking she looked like an angel. She was certainly "heavenly" enough—he'd always thought she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Still was, and it's a good bet she always would be. And this angel chose a "mortal" like _him_…and in their nights together—just when he was _sure_ he knew all there was to know about it!—she'd taught him all that it _could_ be.

Well, whatever the reason…no woman was ever able to replace her. Certainly not Rebecca. That one night was great (as he'd tried to tell the guys), but…heck, that didn't even compare to what he was feeling just a moment ago, just _touching_ his princess again, so personally, after all these years…!

They stared at one another in silence, saying nothing. And then Diane blinked a little, and smiled faintly.

That was it. Sam couldn't bottle it up anymore…but he was strong enough, somehow, to ease it out carefully. And so he took her legs gently, lifting them, and letting them rest across his lap. Diane let him…and when he was done, she blinked away the welling up in her eyes, her smile growing a little.

She extended her arms, reaching to him. Sam held the curve of her waistline, bringing her close. She took hold of his shoulders. They paused for a moment longer, staring into one another's eyes. As Sam remembered from all the times before…Diane's wide, innocent eyes seemed to stare right into him, perceiving everything, if not necessarily understanding all of it. And in those eyes was a desire to _learn_ to understand…to _know_—to know him, in every way.

"Sam…" she whispered. And then her eyelids lowered, as she leaned to him…and their lips met. So long…so long, and now feeling her lips against his own—intense, desperate after all this time….

It was all they could do to limit it to just that one kiss, for now. This was a couch, after all—right next to a table. Their lips parted, and they smiled at one another. But they both knew that neither one was content to just remain there.

Sam let his gaze fall to the highest secured button on her blouse…and he let a hand move up from her waist to unbutton it. Just the one, enough to show the right hint of curve…and he lowered his hand back, waiting. Diane frowned for a moment, looking at him questioningly…but then the answer came to her, and her smile returned. She moved a hand of her own up to Sam's shirt, and mirrored his action. But she kept her hand up there, slowly and absently doodling in the hairs of his chest she'd freed from the unbuttoning.

Diane sighed, shaking her head. "So long…" she whispered.

Sam nodded. "I know…."

Diane lowered her hand a little, resting it over Sam's heart…and left it there, closing her eyes as she felt its beat. Sam took in the feeling of her hand pressing against him…and he could feel his own heart pulsing against it, strong and firm and determined.

Diane blinked and met his gaze, her eyes sad. "How could it have been so long?"

Sam said nothing, as he moved his hand back up…to rest over Diane's heart, in kind…and he took in its warmth and felt its intensity. After a moment, it was as though the rates of their hearts adjusted to flow and beat in sync.

Sam smiled at her, and said, "Lot of time to make up for."

Diane's eyes widened in realization, her mouth open in a slow and silent gasp. She swallowed, and nodded, lowering her hand as Sam did the same. Sam moved a hand under her legs, the other around her back, and she wrapped her hands behind his neck. They kissed once more as he rose to his feet, and then he carried her as he walked to the door of her room.

"Spirit refueled yet?" Sam smirked at her.

Diane beamed at him, resting comfortably in his arms, "Shall we find out?"

And they shared a chuckle, as he moved to flick the lights of the living room off with his elbow. And then he carried her into her dimly-lit room, closing the door behind them with his foot. He paused to take in the sight of the angel, the princess in his arms…and he whispered, "Good night, sweetheart."

Diane leaned to him as Sam sat down on the bed, and she whispered, "_Bon soir_, _mon coer_…."

And their lips met once again…and no more words for the night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Note: Okay, folks! Hope you'll like this week's direction for our couple.**

* * *

Sam woke up to a familiar smell, the identity of which took a while to register—probably because, for all the smells he would ever associate with the kitchen of Diane Chambers, this was _not_ one of them. For a moment, he just noticed that he was alone in the room, and the door to the living area was open…probably exactly _so_ that the smell of—_bacon_!—would get to him like this.

There was a bath robe spread out on the bed—his, one he'd brought along in his suitcase. He chuckled, shaking his head, as Diane's inevitable reason for that came to him: _"Why, _Sam_…if you think for one second I would _dare_ allow myself to risk the remnants of this breakfast—to say nothing of the _grease_—falling onto, let alone _into_, a bed of _mine_…"_

And so, he got up, took the robe, and put it on, securing it before he took a peak out of the room, in the direction of the kitchen. Sure enough, there was Diane Chambers—in jeans and a t-shirt!—with a full apron on…her hair back in a ponytail. It was a look he hadn't seen with her since that debacle with the poetry magazine (except for the ponytail—she'd done that again, when trying out for ballet). There was a "girlish" feel to it—and it highlighted for him just how pretty she was.

She was putting the finishing touches on two platters—two little tufts of kale. He could also see orange wedges.

Sam grinned, and said, "Good morning!"

Diane turned to him with a smile of her own, "Good morning."

Sam frowned for a moment as he pointed to the guest room, "Think I'd better, you know—?"

"Dress up?" Diane shrugged, "Not if you don't need to—I hardly find it necessary."

Sam chuckled, as he walked out of Diane's room and over to her. "Well, look, it's not like I want to act like I can just go around like I own—"

"Oh, _Sam_," Diane pouted, "I put so much effort into this—how could you let it get cold, just to act modest for _my_ alleged benefit?"

"Okay, okay," Sam gave her a kiss on the cheek, and added, "I'll just take a seat, uh…"

"Oh—right here," she gestured to a small table in the kitchen. Sam took a seat, and Diane took off her apron and set it aside, and then she set down the two plates and took the seat across from him.

Sam's plate had three eggs (fried and over easy), four half-slices of buttered toast, and four strips of bacon. Diane's had two eggs, four half-slices, and no bacon. Both had two quarter-wedges of orange, and a kale tuft.

As they began to eat, Sam chuckled, "This isn't your usual kind of thing—or did something happen I don't know about?"

Diane smiled, and shrugged, "Well, I _suppose_ I found myself, to invoke Glenn Miller, 'in the _mood'_ for something a tad—unique. After all, I've learned it's something of a tradition in this sort of scenario."

"Sure, but I wouldn't have thought you'd let any bacon within a hundred _yards_ of your kitchen!"

Diane chuckled, "Strangely enough, there _are_ certain, more elegant dishes that require it."

Sam grinned, "No kidding!"

"I'm not! At times, I've hosted a dinner party or two, where I had a tray of…well, I'll see if I can describe it: meat from lobster leg, wrapped in bacon…"

"With a toothpick stuck through it all?"

"Mm-hmm!"

"Yeah, I've tried those—pretty good."

"And how is _this_?"

Sam put an egg on one of the half-slices, broke a bacon strip in half, put the pieces on top, and closed the new sandwich with another half-slice, "You know, sweetheart, you _can_ cook if you put your mind to doing it right. No 'getting a little creative', just…making it like it's supposed to be made."

"And?"

"Come on, I'm saying I love this. I mean it!" And to punctuate his point, he took a big bite of the combination.

Diane chuckled, and pointed to the remaining bacon, "How did I do?—I'm not used to frying…I was afraid I might have burned them—"

"No, this is just how it's supposed to be—crunchy's better with eggs."

"Well, that's a relief; thank you."

Sam nodded, and went back to his breakfast.

"By the way," Diane went on, "You'll be glad to know I adhered to your advice."

"What about?"

"You suggested I tell Mr. Smithers—the studio executive, Sam…"

Sam nodded.

"You suggested I tell him of my need to rest for a short time. You were right, of course—he was very understanding."

Sam smiled, and nodded again, "Well, that's…good to know."

"Oh…and Sam?"

"What's up?"

Diane blushed a little, and chuckled, "I suppose it's as much my fault as yours…but that tea you'd poured for us last night—"

Sam chuckled, "Yeah, forgot all about that."

"Oh, not to worry. I have enough to spare a few wasted cups. After all, under the circumstances…I'm sure it was…"

"Yeah, _I'd_ say it's worth it."

"Mm-hmm…!" Diane nodded slowly, with a grin.

For a short while, they didn't say anything, after that. They kept at eating until only the oranges and kale were left.

"Look, um," Sam began, "Diane…you don't, by any chance…?"

Diane looked at him questioningly, saying nothing.

Sam shrugged as he picked up one of the wedges and worked on taking off the rind. "Well, it…wasn't really—like we expected it."

Diane frowned, "Expected…what?"

Sam sighed with a smile, "You know—last night."

"Oh…" Diane lowered her gaze for a moment, swallowed, and met Sam's gaze again…with something in her eyes that tugged at Sam's heart, "You don't…you aren't saying that you _regret_—?"

"No, no, of course not!" Sam chuckled, and added, "To be honest, I was kinda gonna ask if _you_ did."

Diane nodded slowly with an "Ah…" look…and then she leaned forward, propping up her chin with her arm, resting it in her palms, and gave him a sweet smile and a playful glint in her eyes. Darn, she was pretty. "Now, _Sam_," she coyly replied, "Have you truly lost that much confidence in yourself…?"

Sam leaned to her, grinning. "Not lately."

Diane chuckled…and they leaned closer to each other for a kiss…and then that led to another, and—

"Wait-wait—hold on…" Diane held up her hands, and leaned back in her seat.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head, "Yeah, not just this moment, huh?"

"Well…that too," Diane chuckled. "But—in all seriousness, Sam, what made you ask that?"

"Well, it's just…I dunno, I guess it's the kind of thing you ask in this kind of situation…" Sam shrugged, and popped the freed orange in his mouth.

Diane nodded, and worked at one of her own wedges. After a moment, she looked at him again, "What situation is that?"

"Oh, come on—" Sam threw up his hands.

"_Sam_!—it's an honest question," Diane smiled, apparently amused.

"Yeah, I'll _bet_. So you _don't_ re—"

"My word, Sam—why on Earth would I _possibly_ have reason to regret last night?"

"I don't _know_, I…"

"Well, why would you even _think_ that I might?"

"Because…" Sam threw out his hands for a moment, and let them fall. "Okay…look, don't you think it's a little obvious? I mean—we meet up, we try our best to just treat this like a little visit, and it doesn't take longer than dinner for us to start drudging up some old wounds…you know? I mean…I just—I'm just wondering…"

He let his voice trail off. Diane just stared at him, looking a little tense.

Sam just sighed, and shook his head, "Look, sweetheart—it's not that I _regret_ it; I just…I'm not sure—"

"You're not…sure what it _means_. Is that it, Sam?"

"Well…" Sam looked off for a moment, and back to her, "Are you?"

Diane stared at the orange wedge in her hand, and nibbled at it.

Sam nodded, "Well, there you go."

Diane looked to him, and said, "Sam…I _know_ that—I was so often the one to…balk at such things…seek to analyze them, not rest until we could answer such questions…"

"But…?"

Diane shook her head with a smile, "Frankly, I don't see a reason not to…allow things to 'flow', naturally—as they will. Well—at least for the next few days, anyway…."

"You mean, as long as I'm here?"

Diane shrugged, "Essentially."

Sam found his smile returning. "Well, that _is_ kinda funny, coming from you."

"Well, after all—as you so _often_ pointed out in times past, such hesitations were often far more detrimental than they were worth. I suppose in _this_ context—considering our mutual familiarity…I suppose it might be best for us to—_allow_ things between us to unfold, and see how our relationship develops."

Sam's smile remained mild, as he mulled this over. After a bit, he asked, "So…relationship, huh?"

Diane chuckled, "There are many forms of 'relationships', Sam—family, friends, lovers…"

"Okay, so what are we?"

Something in him kept him from adding, _Full-blown lovers or friends with benefits?_ Come to think of it, the "something" was probably maturity.

Diane shrugged with a smile, "I suppose we'll find out."

Sam nodded, "Okay…well—so, what do we do, now?"

Diane straightened up, and said, "As a matter of _fact_…following my conversation over the telephone with Mr. Smithers, I found myself recalling a screening to be held at the Chinese Theater—I'm sure you know of the place."

"Yeah, that's where the big stars have their names and handprints in the concrete, right?"

"Exactly."

Sam smirked, "You want us to go to a _movie_."

"Oh, it's not simply a film, Sam—it's _Gone With The Wind_. Have you ever seen it?"

"Well, if I did, I don't remember. I know _about_ it—some names, a couple of the lines…"

"Well, they're going to show it at the theater at noon, today—only the one screening, mind you."

Sam chuckled.

Diane smiled with a bewildered look in her eyes, "What?"

"_You_ want to take _me_ on a movie date."

Smile and all, Diane turned away—and her creamy skin made it obvious she was blushing. "Well, um…I—suppose it can be…called that."

_Oh…right, I said "date". Oh, what the heck—it's not like it wouldn't be appropriate, considering…everything_….

"No, I just—the movies. _You_…?"

Diane looked to him in amusement, "Sam, what's my career, right now?"

"I know; I'm just a little surprised at the irony. A _movie_—I mean, not an opera or something…!"

Diane chuckled as she stood up and gathered the plates. "_Yes_, well…in my defense, it _is_ renowned as a classic, Sam."

"Okay…now, I'll bet you get why I'd be a little concerned, you know? The kinds of movies _you_'d probably like—"

"Sam Malone, I can _assure_ you it is the sort of film that you're quite capable of enjoying."

Sam stood up, grinning. "Wanna bet?"

"Oh?"

"If I like it, dinner's on me—if not, it's on _you_."

Diane laughed, and shrugged, "If you like. But I trust you will at least _try_ to like it?"

"Hey…c'mon: I'm not gonna cheat like that, over _dinner_."

"Good. Because I _will_ detect otherwise."

"I believe it."

"So then, we have a deal?" Diane extended a hand.

Sam took it, "You got it."

Sam wasn't sure how long the pause was…all he knew was his quick mental focus on how soft and delicate her hand felt, as it always had. And then they released, and Diane said, "Well, then—I suppose I should prepare. It's only a few hours away."

"Yeah, me too—should I…dress up or something? I don't have a tux, but I brought along a pretty decent suit."

Diane shrugged with a smile, "Well, _I'm_ certainly dressing up."

Sam smirked, "Yeah?"

Diane's smile turned mischievous as she leaned to him, "Remember that dress I wore two nights ago?"

"Yeah, wasn't that the one you wore to that ball with Cliff?"

Diane quickly nodded as she went on, "As a matter of fact…I thought it would be _apropos_—it's one of my favorites, and one could easily contend that ideally, a visit to the Chinese Theater would warrant…"

"Dressing like a star?"

"Mm—perhaps."

"Well, dressing up it is."

"Thank you," Diane said with a quick nod—and chuckled, Sam joining in.

Diane turned, to start cleaning up the kitchen—but Sam couldn't resist walking to right behind her. "You know," he said as he wrapped his arms around her waist and bringing her close, "I'd say that's one of mine, too."

Diane stiffened with his action, but in a good way, and he could see her eyes close with a growing smile. "The dress?"

"Mm-hmm…one of _my_ favorites."

Diane turned her head to look at him, "_Well_…I suppose that's understandable."

"You said it," Sam kissed her on the cheek as Diane's eyes closed again. "You know, I felt kinda jealous when I first saw it—jealous of Cliff, you know…?"

"Well in my defense, Sam, I didn't _own_ the dress until after our—well, first relationship. I believe I bought it was when I was…dating Frasier."

"Fair enough," Sam kissed her again, shifting his hands a little in a mild caress of her.

"All right, I admit, I _had_ noticed from the beginning how, well, _flattering_ it would be—"

"Absolutely," Sam grinned.

"You know, Sam, I was wondering—should I have my hair up, or…loose and about my shoulders?"

"Hey, you wore it loose a couple nights ago."

"True, but I wore it up for the Postman's Ball."

"I didn't go to the Postman's Ball."

"No, but wouldn't you think that might more emphasize a…diamond necklace and earrings, and so forth?"

"I dunno," Sam kissed her again, "All _I_ know is—as far as I'm concerned, up was for Cliff, down's for me."

"Sam, I didn't even _know_ you were going to be _at_ the lounge!"

"So? I'm still claiming it for me."

"Oh, _Sam_…."

Sam shared her chuckle, as he turned her around so she faced him. Diane put her arms around his neck; Sam pulled her close, and their lips met.

After a bit, they pulled away, Diane resting back against Sam's arms, glowing as she smiled at him in silence.

"You know, we should probably get to it, don't you think?" Sam asked.

Diane nodded. "That would probably be best."

She straightened up as Sam let her go. She finished the cleanup with a noticeable spring in her step…and the truth was, with Diane's back to him, Sam couldn't resist indulging in an old pleasure and sneaking a couple glances at her perfect—

Diane finished and turned to him, looking pretty dignified and giving no indication whether she'd been aware of his shamelessness (as always), as she said, "I trust you'll enjoy the remainder of our day?"

Sam grinned. Diane returned it, as she headed to her room…la-la-la-ing to herself. Sam could've sworn it was a Supremes song—the "Symphony" one.

Sam kept his smile as he went straight to the guest room. Her humming had reminded him of when he'd "introduced" her to the band, when they'd relaxed in his apartment one day with nothing but time on their agenda. He'd convinced her to let him play a few of their hits…and wouldn't you know it, she'd asked if he had any more from them! Turns out, she'd become deeply fascinated—and soon very _verbal_—about the "inherent complexity of their seemingly characteristic repertoire", the "pervasive dichotomy" between the often angst-filled and at times dismal and _dark_ lyrics, and the joyous and lively melodies and music. She actually said she would give very serious thought to writing a treatise on it….

Of course, "I Hear A Symphony" was one of their full-blown "positive" songs.

_Well, one thing's sure—she's certainly re-energized, today!_

One of the first things he did—after a shower, shave, and carefully detailed comb—was to pull out the cologne. _Okay, sweetheart…let's see if you still think it's "totally without nuance"._


	12. Chapter 12

Diane was feeling especially "girlish", still humming to herself as she prepared for the date—yes, she smiled to herself, a date it certainly _was_. A week filled with dates—making each one count—

_No, no…don't make it more than it is. Just…enjoy this, as you will. As _he_ will._

_Oh, stop second-guessing yourself, Diane—he _does_ feel for you, as you feel for him—wasn't that the meaning of last night? Of course it was! And what he said over breakfast—_

_Oh, enough._ She forced her doubts away, and attended to herself before her mirror, smoothing out the folds of her dress. Satisfied, she attended to her hair. She couldn't help but chuckle inside how Sam was perhaps one of the few men who could possibly understand the value of how long _this_ part of it would take. _He_ certainly always took his precious time…until he'd be satisfied his own hair was perfect.

_Sometimes_, she mused with a warm smile, _I wonder if all the talk about "incompatibility" is only that…talk._ Heaven knew there were so often times when he would understand and sympathize in ways that few others could….

_Enough of that! Just let it be as it will._

Finally satisfied with her hair, she took a seat and partook in her makeup, lipstick, mascara, and so forth. All this _would_ have been routine to her, of course—Diane Chambers always made sure to look her best, no matter where she would go today or what she would do. And she certainly hadn't been a stranger to dating, in Los Angeles. But _this_ was different—today it was, at last, for Sam Malone once again.

Part of her was actually quite amused at herself…at the intense pleasure she was feeling right now, in the fact that it was for _him_. To be perfectly honest, she'd felt a similar pleasure when she was cooking, less than an hour ago. Again…for _him_—knowing that it was for the distinct purpose of causing him pleasure.

She chuckled to herself. _My, my…to think he can move you, so._

But he could…and he did. How many dates had there been, since she'd moved here? Hollywood certainly had no shortage of men—let alone…_interesting_ men. And yet—compared to the stirrings of excitement and anticipation within her at this moment, all the preparations for all those dates with all those others…they seemed so dull and tedious, by comparison.

Was it because it had been so long since they'd last seen each other…since they'd last held one another in each other's arms…since they'd last shared a long, abiding, passionate kiss…since they'd last—?

No…no, that wasn't it. To be perfectly frank, it was actually the sort of comparisons she'd subconsciously made when she'd dated poor Frasier—and tragically enough, it wasn't until the worst possible moment that she'd allowed herself to acknowledge such feelings for what they were. Indeed, no man—_no_ man, no matter how wonderful—could possibly still up the feelings within that Sam Malone would. She knew, because for all her efforts to put the past behind her…no man ever had.

And thus, no man had ever caused such pleasure within her at the thought of pleasing _him_—none but Samuel Malone.

He was indeed "all man"…and no other had ever made her truly feel so deeply aware of her own essence as a woman. And the night before had been…_such_ a reminder of that—from the thrill of him merely being so close…to all the abiding sensations of his strong, hardened, swarthy hands caressing her soft and delicate alabaster skin…_caressing_ her legs as though he were symbolically releasing all the tensions that had built up within her over the past few years….

Diane found herself giggling inside, shaking her head. _Now, now…don't. The last thing you need is to throw off the day to go running to him for a repetition. Dignity, Diane…always dignity._

She was thus more-or-less "cooled down" from her reflections as she opened the box for her earrings. With her hair down, they had to be somewhat prominent—but of course, not garishly so. But then, Diane was never one for "garish" at all. "_Dazzling_" certainly, if the situation called for it…such as now. But never garish.

"All _right_—" she made her pick, and put them on. There—perfect.

At last, she took out her jars of perfume, sure to sample their scents. She secretly prided herself on being something of a chemist in these situations: buying various kinds of perfumes and mixing samples of such to provide the desired effect. In _this_ case…something to compete with that confounded _cologne_ of his…but obviously would be something of _taste_—else it would not be in her collection.

At last she was done, and she remained seated for a time, sharing a smile of encouragement with her reflection in the looking glass.

* * *

Sam cinched up the knot on his tie, straightened everything out, and put on the jacket of his suit. After checking his hair one last time, he lingered for a moment, to lock eyes with his reflection.

He sighed. "It's crazy," he muttered.

_Yeah…what do you think's gonna come out of all this?_

"Not a clue," he said, shaking his head.

_Well, get to it. You once told her with you it was just a day at a time—_

_"Oh, Sam, I can't settle for 'a day at a time'—I just CAN'T!"_

_I know, sweetheart…but what's _this_?_

Sam sighed again, and his reflection looked back at him, looking no surer than he felt.

_You know, Sammy, it's pathetic. What is it about her that makes you want to throw caution to the wind…kick away anything about your being a "mismatch"—all those things that tell you it'd be impossible to work out. What makes you drop all that and just go with it…huh?_

At the moment, he didn't have much of an answer. All he knew was, he didn't have much of a choice.

He tugged down his jacket and the ends of its sleeves, and walked out into the living room—and froze despite himself, his breath lost. There was Diane, beaming with a glow in her smile befitting her soft and gentle face; strapless dress, her hair down and "tossed" about her shoulders so perfectly; diamond necklace and earrings—the ring still on the golden string. She spread out her hands and spun around in a full circle as she headed to him; then she pressed down her dress a little self-consciously. The scent of her perfume—he didn't recognize it; all he knew was, it was just…so _her_.

He'd somehow been able to handle how she'd looked, a couple nights ago. But something must've been different—maybe it was the perfume, or the way she carried herself right here, or…something. All he knew was…seeing her right there—all her beauty, inside and out, channeled for all it was worth in so many ways…he had his answer.

Diane's smile grew at him, and asked, "Shall we?"

No way was Sam gonna go on without letting out at least _some_ of his passions—but he had the feeling if he wasn't careful, he'd have to have her, right _there_—and to heck with all the prep.

So, he settled for taking her hand—which somehow felt even softer than normal…and raising it to his lips, kissing it gently. Diane blinked a bit.

Sam grinned at her, "Let's go."

Diane took the black scarf-like "coat" from where it rested on the back of an armchair, and wrapped it around her. She took her purse, and Sam's hand, and they walked out together.


	13. Chapter 13

**Note: I guess the reason I picked ****_Gone With The Wind_**** is that 1) I couldn't help but notice something of a parallel-in some elements, at least-between Rhett & Scarlett and Sam & Diane; and 2) Diane's classic quoting of Scarlett in Season One's "No Contest".**

* * *

Sam had once asked Diane if she'd ever come to associate certain songs and musical pieces with certain places, certain locales. For the Chinese Theater, Diane always felt the opening measures (the effective "chorus") of Messiaen's "Joie Du Sang Des Etoiles", from the Turangalila Symphony—particularly at night…and when the Theater was bustling with activity, amid the world premiere of the latest hopeful cinematic masterpiece.

It was currently known as "Mann's". During the Golden Age of Hollywood, it had held the name of "Grauman's". Diane suspected it would only be a matter of time before it would endure yet another name change. But it was always the Chinese Theater…and God willing, it always would be.

She would've preferred they proudly and romantically walk straight to the entrance as though down the red carpet—as though they were two stars enjoying their rightful place among the firmament…the night (well, day) theirs and theirs alone, all spectators standing behind the barriers in awe of the wonders they proclaimed.

Alas, as they stepped out of the rented limousine, Sam made them linger for a bit to look at all the signatures, handprints, footprints, and so on—in the concrete, the marks left behind by the great icons of Tinseltown. Ah, well. _C'est la vie._

Sam crouched down beside the John Wayne slab, knocking his fist a few times right beside the fist-print. "What's this mean, anyway?"

"Hmm?"

"What he wrote above his name, here: 'Sid—There are not enough words.' Who's Sid, do you think? Or is that a quote…?"

"I haven't the faintest. I'll be sure to find out for you, though."

Sam looked up at her with a glint in his eyes. "Ever think you might get yourself one of these?"

Diane scoffed as she stood a bit away, shaking her head with a chuckle. "Not for a time, anyway. I'm only a writer, Sam—I'm hardly a director, and I'm not an actress."

"_Yet_. And hey—get a couple Oscars under your belt…"

"Oh, _Sam_—get up. You'll ruin the knees of your trousers, for goodness sake—"

Sam chuckled as he got up, brushing them down. "No harm done."

"_Really_—!"

Sam spread out his hands. "You know, you think _I_ could star in a couple things?"

"Unfortunately, sports-oriented films are rarely noticed by the Academy."

"Hey, give me some credit, here! I could act like a movie star…."

Diane put her hands on her hips, "On camera or off?"

"Hey, not fair—and by the way, look who's _talking_, Miss Use-The-Bar-For-Her-Nail-Polish—"

"Sam, get off it—"

"You know I was almost _rooting_ for Carla? Served you right—!"

"Good _grief_, Sam!"

They both lost it and burst out laughing.

When they calmed down, Sam shook his head, "You know, I…kinda actually miss that."

Diane felt a warm smile at this, "Heaven help me, Sam…so do I."

"Yeah…. Still think I'd do pretty good."

"Pretty _well_."

"Glad you agree."

"_Sam_…"

"Come on, I've got a good range—I can act with the best of 'em!"

"As your long list of former paramours can attest, I'd imagine."

"Now, wait—"

Diane stepped close to him and smiled as she met his gaze. "Really, _mon amour_, are we to waste more time here, or do we intend to find the ideal seating in time?"

"I'd have thought not that many people would do this—not in the middle of the day. Most people see movies at _night_."

"This is _Hollywood_, Sam. Cinema is a _culture_, here. Now, better safe than sorry, wouldn't you agree?"

"'Safe' never worked too well for _us_, did it?"

"Sam—"

Sam leaned forward so their lips met. Diane broke the kiss with another laugh as she stepped away, shaking her head. "Sam Malone, you are utterly…without any shame whatsoever."

"To the day I die, princess."

"Very well, _sir_…now," Diane extended her hand, beaming, "Shall we go on, or are you still preoccupied?"

Sam chuckled, and took her hand. They walked together, Diane guiding until they went up a stairwell to one of the balconies—one of the "inner" boxes, to the side of the projector.

They sat down as the overture began. Diane looked around her, and let out a happy sigh, "Ah…what a wondrous locale. Just think…here, in these very seats, have sat who knows how many grand icons of an art form so cherished and adored by so many. Just imagine, all the stars…all the artists, the likes of Samuel Goldwin, Walter Disney, Louis B. Meyer…David O. Selznick, whose masterpiece we're to see in but a few moments…"

Sam chuckled, "Diane, no one calls him 'Walter'."

Diane turned to him. "Selznick? Well, I should hope not—his name's David—"

"And Disney's name is 'Walt', sweetheart. _Walt_—no one calls him 'Walter'."

"Oh…right…" Diane chuckled, feeling a slight blush. "Sorry…a force of habit, I suppose."

"Yeah, 'Norman', 'Clifford'…"

"Naturally."

"So how come I'm never 'Samuel'—and Woody's never 'Woodrow', or something—?"

"Well, in your case, you specifically asked me from the beginning to call you 'Sam'."

"When I hired you? Sure, as opposed to 'Mr. Malone' or 'sir'."

"Oh. Would you have _wanted_ me to call you 'Samuel'?"

"Not really."

"Of course."

"So how come 'Woody' for Woody?"

"'Woodrow' is too much of a strain on the tongue—there _are_ some things more powerful than habit."

"'Walter' Disney's not a strain on the tongue—?"

"Not to mine. Sam, don't ask me to explain it. Habits aren't necessarily wholly comprehensible. Shall I remind you of _your_ share of oddities…?"

"Yeah, point taken."

After a moment or two, Sam turned to her again, "How long is this gonna take?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"This 'overture' thing—what's the point of this?"

"Well, in part, it's to prepare us emotionally for the scope of the epic to come. _The Ten Commandments_, _Camelot_…it's to invoke the tradition of overtures for operas and musicals."

"Uh-huh."

"Really, Sam—"

"Hey, I'm just asking questions about it—I just never got it, you know?"

"All right…consider it our opportunity to settle down, as it were—to relax ourselves, so as to properly _immerse _ourselves in the experience to come."

Sam smiled at her, and shrugged. "Fair enough, I guess…."

Finally, the lights dimmed, most apparently from the chandelier in the center of the ceiling—and then, the drums, and the bells…and the brief shot for Selznick International Pictures, with its accompanying theme. Diane leaned back and to the side—Sam's side. She felt Sam wrap his arm around her…and they relaxed and watched the screen as the opening titles began, and the rousing, majestic orchestral of "Tara's Theme" absorbed them both….

* * *

When the intermission hit, Sam leaned to Diane's ear, and whispered, "Well, _that_ sure sounds familiar."

"Hmm?"

"'As God is my witness', and all that—?"

"Oh, yes, well…I suppose I'd thought it was a nice touch."

"Well, it sure was." Sam paused for a moment, and smirked, "Guess I owe you dinner, huh?"

Diane chuckled, and shifted a little in Sam's arm. "To borrow your sort of vernacular, Sam…it's only halftime."

"Yeah, but I'm calling the game early."

Diane nodded. "That's fair enough."

"I, uh…have to admit, though—it took me a while."

"Oh?"

"Well, yeah—other than that guy Rhett, it…kinda looked like everyone's, you know, _overacting_, for a while."

"Oh—well…."

Sam grinned, and playfully tightened his hold for a moment. "But I guess I'm pretty much _used_ to that—"

"_Sam_!" Diane smacked him-gently, of course. They shared a chuckle, and relaxed, staring at the screen.

After a while, the screen changed. Sam turned to her. "So…what's that mean?"

"Hmm?"

"On the screen—however the heck you pronounce that…"

"Oh, 'Entr'acte'?"

"Yeah. What is that?"

"Yes, well…literally, it means 'between the acts'—"

"But it just _said_ 'Intermission'—"

"I'm aware of that. Apparently, 'entr'acte' indicates the music."

"Well, there sure was a lot of music when it said 'Intermission'."

"Yes, well…I suppose it depends on the filmmakers. I've seen many such films where it only says 'Intermission' briefly."

"Oh…okay."

"Interestingly enough, for stage productions, the 'entr'acte' can involve many different things—dances, small performances from background players…"

"Yeah. You know, isn't this usually the part when we're supposed to take a bathroom break?"

Diane flinched, and shrugged, "Well…that's _one_ purpose, I suppose. Primarily, it's so that the audience can more thoroughly 'digest', if you will—process all they have seen."

"Yeah…hey, you don't see this a lot, nowadays."

"For all intents and purposes, you don't see it at _all_, nowadays. Films are as a rule now too short to warrant an intermission, and apparently there was fear of people taking advantage to…"

"Switch out?"

Diane shrugged, "Among other things."

"Well, not that I've ever done it, but you'd think it wouldn't be too hard for people to do that anyway."

"Well…perhaps. As it stands, I don't like such changes, myself—I am quite the aficionado of the theatre, and I prefer such elements as this…."

"Yeah…classes it up."

"Perhaps…" Diane sighed.

They remained there, for the rest—of the intermission, and the film.


	14. Chapter 14

**Note: For those who don't know, there is indeed a version of the ****_Gone With The Wind_**** theme with the lyrics Diane indicates, sung by Margaret Whiting, entitled "My Own True Love".**

* * *

"You ever think they get back together?" Sam asked as he ate.

They sat in the _Coltrane Lounge_—a small table, across from each other. The band was playing a soft and gentle tune…so relaxing and soothing.

Diane felt a smile, "Rhett and Scarlett?"

"Yeah. I mean…right there—at the end, she says she's gonna get him back."

"Well…_perhaps_, Sam."

Sam leaned back and let out a whistle. "You know…I _knew_ that line of his was coming, but—"

"'Frankly, my dear…'?"

"Yeah—that's the line everyone knows, right?"

"I suppose."

"But, I mean—geez, just when she finally _got_ it…."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't say she _fully_ 'got it', as it were, Sam—she still had a lot to learn—about Rhett…herself—everything…." Diane looked off, and sighed, "She didn't truly understand what she had…_who_ it was she had, in Rhett—she'd long convinced herself he was _not_ the right man—that Ashley was…when it was truly Rhett that was perfect for her. And as such—" she shook her head sadly, "Her _treatment_ of him—"

"Well sure, I mean, it's not like she didn't have it coming, but—c'mon! I'd have thought they still had a shot."

"Well, as do I, Sam…" Diane turned back to him, "But I believe the point of her thoughts—regarding Tara—was that she had to find her _own_ success in life, and that what she would _learn_ from that would teach her to value the opportunities of life…and thus, to truly learn to _value_ Rhett—for _him_. You see, Sam…only _then_ could she truly be able to reconcile with him. Until then…"

Her voice trailed off—and part of her suddenly focused on what she'd just said.

_No, of course it isn't the same. God forbid I should _ever_ treat a man like that. And yet…all the same…_

Sam nodded slowly, and asked, "So, _do_ you think he takes her back?"

Diane smiled, and shrugged. "I'd like to think so."

"_After_…"

"After she learns to value him—yes."

Sam shrugged, and smirked, "Well one thing's for sure—that girl needed kissing."

"_Badly_."

They shared a chuckle at this, and a contented sigh. Diane finished her dinner quickly enough. As she applied her cloth napkin, she added, "Oddly enough, there _is_ a sequel."

"Really? Can't say I ever head of one."

"It was just published, actually."

"Oh, it's a _book_."

Diane smirked and shook her head, "_Gone With The Wind_ was originally a novel, Sam."

"Okay. So, do they get back together?"

Diane smiled and looked off.

"Oh, come on—tell me! It's not like I'm gonna read it."

Diane turned to him. "Oh?"

"Hey, that's not fair!"

"_Oh_? Well, _frankly_, my d—"

"Hey, don't you think that'd be my kinda line?"

Diane raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Why?"

Sam smiled.

"_Oh_…now you're daring to compare yourself to Rhett Butler?"

"Hey, I bet there are worse role models."

"And what does that make _me_, then? Scarlett?"

"Well, you tell me, sweetheart—_you're_ the one who borrowed her line for the pageant."

"Ah-_huh_. Well, I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."

"Well, you'll sure as heck turn out pretty, either way."

Diane chuckled, and couldn't resist putting on her best try at a Southern belle's accent, "Well!—you're _certainly_ a conceited, black-hearted varmint, Mr. Malone—I don't know _why_ I put up with you!"

Sam laughed, and pointed at her, "Hey, that's pretty good."

Diane shrugged, going back to her normal voice to reply, "Well, isn't _that_ interesting: Who was it that told me I couldn't act…?"

"Yeah, well, I was kinda making a _point_ when I said it, but—you know…."

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm sure you're pretty good."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, sure…" Sam finished his meal, while Diane consulted her compact, checking her makeup. After a moment, Sam, asked, "Does that have words?"

And Diane realized she'd been humming Tara's Theme to herself. She paused, and turned to him, "Hmm?"

"That, you know…that theme song. _Is_ it a song? Sure sounds like it."

Diane paused, finished her checking, and put the compact away. She beamed at Sam, "Actually, yes. Is that a request, Mr. Malone?"

Sam chuckled, "Well, uh…"

Diane rose to her feet, smiling all the while as she walked to the stage.

* * *

Sam watched her talk to the band, and then sit on the stool by the microphone. This time, of course, there was clearly no fighting of her urge to meet his gaze, as she smiled at him from the stage. Sam chuckled, and winked back.

The band began, and Sam sat there, leaning back, taking it in with a smile. Diane straightened up proudly, and held the mike with both hands, close to her chest, as she kept smiling at him, her eyes never leaving him as she sang:

_My own true love…_

_My own true love…_

_At last I've found you…_

_My own true love…!_

_No lips but yours…_

_No arms but yours…_

_Will ever lead me…_

_Through Heaven's doors…!_

And suddenly it dawned on Sam Malone that she had another motive for doing this—the same reason for the intensity of her gaze and the passion of her tone. He felt his smile freeze, and his gaze intensify—with Diane's voice as she went on:

_I roamed the Earth…_

_In search of this…!_

_I knew I'd know…you…_

_Know you…by your kiss…!_

_And by your kiss…_

_You've shown true love…!_

_I'm yours, forever…_

_My own true love…!_

When the song ended, the lounge exploded in applause and cheers. Sam swallowed hard, and watched her curtsey on the stage, thanking them all. He found himself downing his Sprite as she walked back to their table. Diane sat down, beaming, "What do you think?"

_Hoo, boy._ Sam managed to chuckle—hoping to heaven it didn't sound nervous. "You know, for a second there, I was kinda afraid they were gonna turn a light on me, and one on you, and then dim everything else."

Diane chuckled, "You know, I hadn't thought of that. But I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable…at least not in this sort of situation."

_"Want to"…okay._

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"The _song_…?"

"Oh, well…" Sam grinned, "I'd have thought it'd be something like 'Gone With The Wind'. Or, uh, was it already a song before they used it?"

"Oh, no, it was written for the film."

"Okay…."

A pause for a while, and then Diane shrugged and chuckled nervously, "Well, um…I can't say I was expecting…_this_, exactly."

Sam shrugged, "What?"

"_This_! Sam, is something wrong?"

"I-I don't…"

Diane smiled, pointing at him, "Now, Sam, don't give me _that_…."

"Well, uh…" Sam chuckled again…and straightened up. _Okay, Sammy—out with it. You know darn well she's not gonna settle for anything less._

He leaned forward a bit, and said, "Well, it's just…you were _really_ singing, out there."

Diane blinked, her smile turning amused, "As opposed to…?"

"No, I just—I mean, it was like you were _really_ putting your heart in it—know what I mean?"

Diane paused, and nodded slowly. "Yes…?"

Sam swallowed inside. _How do I say this? Does she want me to just come out with it?_

Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a million bucks.

Sam shrugged, "You just…sounded like—"

Diane leaned to him, grinning eagerly.

_Okay—out with it. No turning back._

"You meant it, didn't you? Every word…."

Diane blinked, her eyes widening a little. She looked off for a moment, and sighed.

_Oh, boy. I just either made things really awkward, or even more intense._

Diane blinked again as she met his gaze…smiling warmly. "What do you think?" she asked.

Sam paused, mulling this over. Finally, he said, "I think…we'd better continue this in _private_."

Diane nodded, "That would probably be best."

"Yeah…" Sam rose to his feet, as Diane did the same.

As they left, part of Sam was more than a little paranoid that the audience who'd cheered and applauded Diane had seen and understood the passion, the…intimacy—and that some were watching the two of them with knowing smiles and nods….


	15. Chapter 15

**Note: Brace yourselves, dear readers. After all, it wouldn't be a "real" Sam & Diane story without, well...**

* * *

They said precious little, all the way to her home. Diane's heart cried out to her to say something—anything!—to address what had happened. But…it wasn't the right time. Not until they arrived at her home. Not until they were sure and certain they could talk.

The door closed behind Sam. Diane stood in the middle of the room…looking around, taking in the surroundings.

Sam cleared his throat, "Well, uh…"

Diane turned to him, and nodded, "Yes, well—"

Sam chuckled. "Don't you hate that?"

"What?"

"Y'know, awkward pauses—we both know we gotta talk about it, and we can't."

Diane nodded again, looking off.

"Well, okay, let's talk about it. It's not gonna go away, sweetheart."

Diane sighed, and turned to him. "You say that as if you think one of us _wants_ such things to go away."

Sam froze at this. "Well, what—what do you mean?"

"I don't know…" Diane sighed, and shook her head, "No, that's wrong—I _do_ know…."

"Geez, Diane—what _is_ this?"

Diane kept shaking her head, as she headed to the back doors, "Oh, what is _what_—?"

As she opened the doors, stepping out, Sam followed as he said, "Well for one thing, all that 'own true love' business!"

Diane held the wooden railing as she looked out to the sea, "Those are the words to the _song_—"

"I'm sure they are—but you sure as heck sung like you meant it—"

Diane whirled to him, "And why wouldn't I, Sam?! You know how I feel, as well as I do—do you _really_ think I wouldn't mean it?"

Sam paused, looked out to the sea for a moment, and sighed, "Okay…right—okay, fine. I got that…."

Diane stared at him, frowning, her body tense. _I didn't think he would take it like this. After all we said—all we've _done_!—how can he be so astonished by it?_

Sam turned to her, "So, about that 'I'm yours forever' part—"

"It is _part_—of the _song_."

"And you _knew_ that…and you sung it like you were singing it to _me_."

Diane met his gaze. "Was I?"

"Oh, sure—like your staring at me and getting _this_ close to crying, it was so intense—like that didn't mean what it _usually_ means."

Diane nodded. "All right then. So I think we can _assume_, Sam Malone, that you are not blind and you are not deaf—"

"Hey, this isn't about me—"

"Isn't it?"

"Come on, what was all that stuff this morning, about us just letting things unfold, or something—remember that? Or were you just saying it all just to set me up?"

"Sam, that is _not_ fair—!"

"Oh, it's not? So, what's going on here, Diane?—I think we just figured out we gotta figure _this_ out. Right here, right now. No putting it off, no 'day at a time'—_nothing_. All right?"

Diane swallowed, her gaze lowered. After an eternity's pause, she nodded, and looked up to meet his eyes. "All right, then—fine."

"Okay."

Another silence, as they stared at one another…saying nothing. Finally, Diane opened her mouth to reply, "Sam, I—"

It was just as Sam began, "You know, I—"

They cut themselves off…and Sam said, "Sorry—go ahead."

"N-no, Sam, what were you—?"

"Hey, ladies first—you go."

"But Sam, I—"

"You know this is gonna go on until _one_ of us decides to go first," Sam smirked.

Diane chuckled, "Right, well…"

"And like it or not, Diane, you brought all this up."

"I did _not_!"

"Going up _on stage_—geez, you could've just _told_ me what the words are; you didn't have to make it a big number."

"But, I—"

"What were you going to say?"

Diane swallowed, and nodded. "All right…" she said, and straightened. "I want you to know, Sam…that I truly meant what I said, at the restaurant—two nights ago. I have…I have regretted, for so long—I've regretted the fact that I left you—that I allowed that infernal Sumner to talk me—to talk _us_ into believing that I couldn't possibly reconcile my career with a marriage to you. I've regretted that I stopped calling you—that I never wrote, that I—"

"Diane, we agreed—"

"And we _shouldn't_ have! At the very least, we should never have behaved as though we could just…just cut everything off—"

"Sweetheart, we had to move on—"

"Well, it certainly looks as though we've done a fine job of that!"

Sam didn't answer. He stared at her for a while, and then looked out, holding the rail. "I knew I shouldn't have come here," he said.

Diane stiffened, and shook her head, "You don't mean that."

Sam shook his head, "I don't know, okay? Maybe I don't—all I know is, I knew it was gonna end up bad—like _this_."

"Like _what_?—Sam Malone, I am trying to understand this—and I need an _answer_. You owe me that much, at least."

"Oh, what?" Sam muttered.

"What did you _think_ was going to happen, exactly? Why did you come here in the first place, if it wasn't to address—?"

"I don't know _why_ I came here, okay? Tell the truth, I wasn't even sure I _wanted_ to meet up with you."

"So, then, you wanted to look me up and watch me from a distance."

Sam spread out his hands, "I don't know."

Diane pursed her lips for a moment, and said, "You know, Sam, for a man who supposedly wasn't certain of what to do, you certainly did a lot."

Sam's eyes intensified, "Oh, look who's talking, here. 'My mind says one thing, my heart says another thing'—you know, sweetheart, _I_ seem to remember you turning me down, over—and over—and _over_—and every time, you changed your mind, 'realizing' it was a mistake. All those _times_, Diane—and you know darn well things would've turned out a _heck_ of a lot better if you'd 'known what you were doing'; I'll bet _Frasier_ would sure agree with me on _that_—!"

"Sam, _stop it_!"

"All I'm saying, Diane," Sam went on without flinching, "is that you're _not_ gonna talk to me about not knowing what I'm doing."

Diane felt a shiver…and her vision blurred, "Sam…" she whispered.

Sam said nothing, though his features seemed to soften.

Diane blinked, and stared off at the ocean.

_He's right. So help me, he's right, so often—much more than I'd ever dared to admit._

But Sam let out a resigned sigh, and said, "Diane, I…I'm sorry. I don't know what—"

"Don't," Diane said quietly, still staring at the ocean.

"I mean it—"

"Don't be sorry, Sam," Diane turned to him…and smiled sadly, "As I told you…_I_ would be angry with me."

Sam lowered his gaze a little.

Diane swallowed, and said, "And I _am_."

Sam looked at her, and shook his head, "Now look, I'm not asking you to—"

"I…I need to be alone, Sam," Diane straightened up, and walked back inside. She didn't hear him follow her—he stayed out there. But she could feel him watching her, until she closed the door to her room.

She threw herself onto the bed, burying her eyes into a pillow, and let out all the pain of all the guilt she'd felt for so long.

She didn't remember if she'd locked or even shut the door. At the moment, as the tears flowed out…she didn't really have time to care.


	16. Chapter 16

She didn't shut the door. Sam pressed his ear to it, and heard her sobbing. He nudged the door open, quietly, slowly…and peeked.

He'd half-expected her to bolt up and shout at him to get away and leave her alone. Sure would've served him right—he knew darn well he didn't have much of a right to peak in on her, especially considering what'd just happened. But she didn't seem to notice—face-down on the bed, eyes against the pillow.

His heart screamed at him to go right up to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her…but his mind knew darn well it wouldn't have helped. No…the best thing he could do right now was leave her alone—for now. When all was said and done…_then_ they could sit down, and reconcile.

And so, he sighed, and softly closed the door again. He walked to the guest room, and sat down on the bed. And then he realized he had a few tears of his own.

He wiped them away with his hands, and shook his head. Just seeing her so—so broken, so crushed. And she'd have been the first to say it wasn't _his_ fault…not really. She was crying over what she blamed herself for.

_Still, _I_ brought it up. She wouldn't be crying at all, if I'd handled it better. You just _had_ to get mad at her, didn't you? It was an honest question—and that's what you two were _supposed_ to be doing, right? Asking honest questions—so why'd you let it get to you, huh? Why did it hurt so much?_

He let out a hard blow from pursed lips, and took off his shoes and undid his belt. He then moved so that he lay back against the head, and closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes. Had he dozed off? It couldn't have been _that_ long….

He turned to see. She was standing in the doorway, a bit timidly. Other than that, you wouldn't have known what had happened before. She must have freshened up when she was done. Well, that sure was Diane, for you….

Sam sat up, "Are, uh…are you okay?"

Diane smiled a little, and gave a slight nod before asking, "May I come in?"

"Oh—sure! Right here…" Sam moved back to sitting on the side of the bed. Diane sat beside him. Sam gave her a smile. "So, uh…what a day, huh?"

Diane nodded, "Yes…."

"Look—honey, I'm sorry about what I—"

"No, Sam, don't—I told you I don't—"

"Well, _I_ blame me. That was…that was stupid of me. I knew darn well what I was getting myself into, coming here…and I did it anyway. I can't blame you for getting your hopes up."

"But why should I have—regardless? After all, it isn't as though we can simply…resume where we'd been, before."

Sam said nothing.

Diane shook her head, staring at nothing. "Curse him, anyway."

"Huh?"

"Oh, _Sumner_—of all things, just when the wedding approaches, _he_ arrives, he somehow gets his hands on one of _my_ manuscripts, and he 'takes the _liberty_' of submitting it—without _my knowledge or approval_—"

"Diane, I don't think that's—"

"But I let him get away with it, Sam! And the things he said…I _allowed_ him to make a _mockery_ of what you and I shared, together—and I allowed him to…to destroy _our_ chance for…for…"

"Hey…" Sam put an arm around her, "Forget it, huh?"

"Oh, _Sam_…of all the times for him to just—pop in, it had to be _just_ as you and I were going to be _married_! It wasn't fair—it wasn't _right_! I had no say in that—he just 'decided' to send it in, and they happened to call in _right_ when we were at the _altar_—"

"Hey, come on…" Sam reached his free hand to her, turning her head to him, "It was for the best—"

Diane nudged Sam's hand away with hers, "Why did it have to happen _then_? Of all the times for those things to happen, it had to be _then_!"

"Diane, come on: You _really_ think you'd have been able to…do what you've done, _here_—you think you could've done it and stayed in Boston?"

Diane sighed, and shuddered a little. Then she smiled, in amusement. "You know, Sam," she said, in an oddly light tone, "There was a time when…when the entertainment industry held residence in New York." She turned to Sam, "Sometimes, I wish they'd remained there."

Sam chuckled, "Well, it's not like Manhattan's exactly on my doorstep."

"I know, but all the same…it might as well be, compared to Los Angeles."

"Sure."

"And I can't simply blame Sumner. I _let_ him get away with what he did…I let my excitement at possibly being a novelist cause me to all but forget what he'd _done_ to me…and I allowed that—that _call_ to ruin my…well, my sense of _priorities_—"

"Diane, you _can't_ go on blaming yourself. You didn't call off the wedding—I did. _I_ told you, you had to take your shot…and you did. And you did _great_, honey—you shouldn't regret that!"

Diane sighed, "Sam…I cannot tell you how many times I've looked back over that day—and wondered if I'd have been able to have both—my career and…and a life with the man I loved."

"But you said they _didn't_ publish it—you had to fly all the way _here_."

"I know…but I can't help but wonder, whether things would've been different."

"Whoa, hold on—you really think they'd have published it if you'd stayed with me? Come on, why would _that_ make any difference?"

"Well…perhaps my being alone influenced the rest of my writing—I don't know…."

"Geez, Diane—I don't get that!"

"Sam, all I mean is that I can't think I needed to _leave_ you in order to write—regardless of what Sumner said."

"Well, I'm pretty sure it makes a difference, for Hollywood."

Diane shrugged, "Perhaps…."

"There you go. You did what you _had_ to do, sweetheart. I didn't like it, any more than you do. But we _had_ to—"

"_Why_? Sam, why did we have to allow _Sumner_ to throw that wedge in our lives? I can't accept—"

"Diane, _whoever_ it was gonna be, it was your _shot_. You had a shot at something big, and you took it. If you hadn't…I don't know how I'd have been able to—"

"I could have found a way, Sam. I _could_ have!"

"Hey, look—you don't know that, any more than I do. Geez, have you been beating yourself up over _that_?"

Diane shook her head. "I…"

"Well, what's done is _done_…we can't change it, if we wanted to."

Diane nodded, "I know…." She looked to him, and added, "But…I suppose the issue is, what now?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, sweetheart…I just don't know."

"But _can't_ we know? We cannot simply go our separate ways after this…could we?"

"No…" Sam chuckled, "I guess not. But…we can't act like you can just head back to Boston—you not gonna just throw away all you got, here. If I have a say in it, I won't _let_ you, okay?"

Diane blinked, staring at him, raising an eyebrow. "Well! Aren't we becoming presumptuous…?"

"Now you _know_ what I man."

Diane sighed, and nodded. "I know…. And—well, you _certainly_ can't give up _Cheers_, Sam—I couldn't dare ask that of you."

"Yeah, I guess not," Sam smiled, "I already gave it up _once_—didn't work out so well…."

Diane nodded, "Well, all I can guarantee, Sam…is that I can't—I _won't_—neglect to…well, to remain in touch. Not again, Sam. As the very least, I can certainly promise you _that_."

Sam smiled, and kissed her.

Diane smiled at him, and rose to her feet. "I hope you'll forgive me, Sam, but…I think it would be best for us to…"

Sam grinned as he met her gaze, "…be _alone_ for a while, 'reflect on this new step in our relationship', or something?"

"Something like that."

"I figured that was coming…."

Diane chuckled, "Well, um…under the circumstances, I think I have a more valid excuse for saying it, this time."

Sam nodded, "Fair enough."

Diane walked to the doorway, and suddenly a thought occurred to Sam. "Hey, by the way…"

Diane turned to him, with a questioning look.

Sam straightened up, "You know, I tend to 'reflect' pretty quickly, if you know what I mean…."

Diane sighed with a smile, "Sam…."

"Hey, under the circumstances, I think I got a valid excuse," Sam made a show of looking her up and down.

Diane put her hands on her hips in response. "'_Have_' a valid excuse."

Sam smirked at her, "Glad you agree."

Diane scoffed, shaking her head. And then she walked out, and back into her room.


	17. Chapter 17

**Note: More self-reflection from our girl! Anyone else wonder about that "man in uniform" she mentioned in "Don Juan Is Hell"-her first love? Thinking about it, I've wondered if it spoke to some element of her personality-her sense of Romanticism, perhaps?**

* * *

There was a traditional procedure among _men_, Diane had learned long ago—perhaps from Sam, she didn't quite remember—with the distinct purpose of clearing one's mind of…emotional complications. Usually those rooted in romantic or lustful desires. For all she knew, Sam was engaging in a cold shower, right this moment.

As it stood, Diane had never been able to truly ascertain whether immersion in cold water would be appropriate to that end for _women_, as well. But she certainly needed to wash, anyway—it would be an interesting experiment, at that.

She turned the water back to warm, quickly. It wasn't worth it. Frankly, the warmth seemed to work better, for her. It was certainly more relaxing.

She let out a big, cathartic sigh as she leaned back against the shower wall.

_What am I thinking? What are _we_ thinking? What is it we hoped to accomplish, with all of this?_

_And for heaven's sake—why can't either of us _ever_ seem to make a firm decision about…_us_…until we are _forced_ to?! Is it me?—is it my fault? He once said my problem was that I always had to think about things—even when it wasn't warranted. Is that it? Do I just…think too much?_

_But—just this morning, I made it _clear_ to you, Sam—I wanted to, for all intents and purposes, do things _your_ way: live in the moment, not think…just _do_. And it was _that_, Sam, which led me to pour out my heart, in song—for you, Sam! Did you not understand that? Could you not…?_

She shook her head at herself. _No, that's absurd, Diane—you're blaming _him_. Of _course_ he knew! That was the problem: he didn't come here to "live in the moment". He came here to…so help me, he came here to _think_—to reflect on us…confront these things, face them for what they were. He just didn't realize that…until now._

She straightened up and chuckled to herself as she washed. _Oh, Sam…how often we are so deeply confused by what our hearts tell us: "Deceitful above all things"…"beyond all cure"…"Who can understand it?" Who can, indeed?_

_Sometimes…I don't think even the heart itself can understand its own logic._

Not that her mind ever fared much better, on such things. Oh, Frasier…she'd told herself constantly that he was the _perfect_ man for her—and as far as "logical" tests like "compatibility" were concerned, he was! But _she didn't love him_—not in _that_ way…but she'd refused to admit it to either of them, until it was far too late to confront the truth without harm.

And all the reluctance—all the unnecessary delays regarding Sam, both before they first came together (in hindsight, she admitted, it could well _have_ been "right", had she _not_ balked at allowing her gratitude for his comfort—his sensitivity—over dear Elizabeth to become something more…) and when they began to rekindle: after their near-death on Dalton's airplane…or after the opera, or…or worst of all, that terrible moment when she'd given the wrong answer to his beautiful proposal on the boat—a proposal so romantic, so tender, so heartfelt and _perfect_…and yet she'd _thought_ too much—clinging to the _possibility_ that perhaps Sam wasn't proposing for _all_ the right reasons.

Frankly, it so often seemed that allowing her _mind_ to determine her romantic paths so often caused more harm than good—for both herself _and_ the man in question.

_Well…not always. With that _Sumner_, I was merely being stupid—in hindsight, everything _about_ him was wrong for me—I misinterpreted reverence for a then-_mentor_ for attraction—and the blackguard, he took advantage of that._

But was he the only exception? After all, there _was_ that…the young soldier, the "man in uniform"; the first man for whom she'd opened her heart…but then—

Well…what _had_ happened? Diane had quipped to Sam, once, that the breakup involved how the man presumed to wear his hair after his training ended. Of course, it wasn't only _that_—looking back, she'd often suspected she'd said it partly to tease Sam about _his_ obsessions.

_But what was it? _Was_ it appearances? When that man and I had been together—my first love, however brief…I remember he was so _perfect_, I'd thought—so strong and brave, and noble, and heroic…but something had changed. He had lost something, in his "appeal"…and for the life of me, I cannot truly imagine what it could have been. Something about _him_—but what had he lost?_

_Funny…the worst of it is—I don't believe I even remember his _name_. I'm sure, if it was mentioned, I would, but—right here, I can't think of it. Just…what had been lost, between us._

Amusingly enough—while she was mulling over this, she was physically concentrating on _her_ hair. That shampoo whose scent men kept comparing to perfume—

No, no, back to the subject:

_All right—fine, Diane, freely use your _mind_, for a moment: perhaps your quip about the soldier's hair held a hidden truth: before Sam pressed you on it, you'd said the man had went to his "doom". Perhaps…something about him that _was_ lost, in that time—which _represented_ what, on a deeper level, lost him for _you_. The hair?—fine, what could that mean? Well, I understand that in the military, haircuts involve _sameness_…they are trained to be as _one_, in a group. Individuality is _channeled_—into heroics, to be sure…rewarded as they are with medals. But they are not to be "rebels"—the chain of command is near absolute._

_Is that it? Perhaps he no longer "stood out" for you—he'd seemed to become too structured…too "channeled"?_

_Well, isn't that fascinating—Sam is about as "un-structured" as a man can be, without being…chaotic, like that Jack Dalton was. Oh, Sam has his structures—his refusal to touch alcohol, for obvious reasons. And he follows the rules, for his business. But…he _is_ a bit of a "rebel", isn't he? Refusing to change his personal standards of "manhood" for the times…except in the "good" ways—treating me with respect, and so forth. But that sort of thing is timeless, isn't it—chivalry, being a "gentleman", in the inner sense? And aside from that…he _does_ rebel against things not involving actual _morals_. He lives his life on _his_ terms._

_And perhaps…perhaps, that was exactly what I was looking for, in a man—from the beginning. He had to be strong and brave, and honest and true…and not allow those things to be "channeled"—to be _dulled_—by "conventions"._

_Not that Sam hadn't any conventions imposed upon him—that perfectionist of a father of his, driving him to obsessive self-competition, which led to so much hardship and tragedy…but I most certainly witnessed him overcoming all that…and my admiration for him—and yes…my _love_—grew in turn, with that._

_A "rogue knight", indeed…who shall always need and forever desire his princess—needing her to stand by him, stand _for_ him…redeem him, in his own eyes along with hers…prove to him with her love that he is indeed a worthy man._

Diane smiled to herself. _Well! Perhaps detailed thinking _can_ be useful in a relationship!_

Well…perhaps. But the question was: now what?

_There's the rub, isn't it? Perhaps _that_ had always been the problem. It wasn't that I was thinking—it's that I was thinking in the wrong contexts—at the wrong times, over the wrong details…when it wouldn't have helped. And because of that…I constantly missed the things truly _worth_ such reflection. And now…the best I can do is make up for that—take care I remedy that part of myself._

The only problem was…she wasn't too certain she knew how.

When she was done, towel wrapped around her and her hair more-or-less dried enough, she found herself going through her closet. She wasn't too certain why she'd want to—it wasn't as though either of them were in any condition for a late-night outing. But…somehow, it was stimulating. Besides (she smiled), her best nightdresses were in her _closet_, not her dresser—and by "best"…

_Oh, now _really_, Diane!—after the emotional "roller-coaster", as it were, of today, you want to _seduce_ him? In such an obvious manner?_

Ah, well. If she _did_ choose to go that route, it would be an interesting change of pace for her. Amusing, but interesting. At any rate—best to keep one's options open….

And then her hand brushed against a case she'd long all but forgotten. Diane froze, and her heart skipped a beat.

_I guess all of that should wait for tonight, _she mused as she regained her composure. _It would seem…I still have a bit of self-reflection to do._


	18. Chapter 18

**Note: Okay folks-for the weekend! I hope this is gonna be something you all will just LOVE. I certainly loved writing this passage. Let me know what you think! Enjoy:**

* * *

Sam took a quick shower—just a rinse, and then he freshened up and fixed his hair…then put that suit back on, just for the heck of it. Yeah, what the heck—it was already out, and it wasn't _that _late. It wasn't like he was going to sleep in it. And besides, he always liked looking his best for the ladies—

_Well, how about that? "For the ladies"…not "for the _babes_". You know, Sammy…come to think of it, did you ever, you know, mentally label Diane a "babe" or a "chick" or anything like that? Even when you first met her? Funny, I can't say I remember _ever_ thinking of her that way—there was always something…different—something _above_ that, with her. She always seemed too classy for it._

He smiled to himself. _You know something, I don't think I'd ever really found myself thinking of a woman I might take a liking to as a…as a "lady"—not as a first thing coming to mind—until I met _her_. Funny, isn't it? Just something about her made her a "lady". I mean…sure, they're all just words, but—just looking at her, "lady" kinda fits her—the way "babe" or "chick" doesn't. Well…not like _that_._

In the meantime, no one ever accused him of being a "gentleman"—not unless it was sarcastic, or something. Well…there _were_ times when a woman, impressed at something he did, called him one—but he wasn't really one to take that. He'd just chuckle and shrug it off.

Still…with _her_—

_With _her_, for some reason, I kinda find myself wanting to be one, after all._

He chuckled, shaking his head as he put the finishing touches on his hair. _How about that? "Sam Malone, Gentleman"—and it means something._

Okay. He was all dressed up again. Now what? Just lounge around until he was tired, and then change out? Geez, it wasn't as if Diane intended to keep on dressing up.

_Hey, who am I kidding? It's Diane Chambers we're talking about—you know: the girl who'd show up for work at the bar in some frilly thing you'd expect to see in a "formal" school _ball_, or something…? She _lives_ for being "classy", for goodness sake. Some of her nightdresses could pass for evening dresses, almost—looser and "gentler", maybe, but _still_!_

_Tell the truth, I don't think I ever found myself really thinking the word "glamorous" until I met her. How about that, huh?_

_Okay, so what are _you_ doing? Sprucing up to keep _up_ with her?_

_And while we're at it—why the heck are you thinking about this, anyway?_

"I dunno," he muttered, as he finished up. "I just don't know."

He opened the door to the main area…and paused, as he took note of the fact that Diane's door wasn't closed. It was…well, _about_ half-open.

_Sammy, whatever you're thinking, it's stupid. I'd serve you right, have her shove you out and slam the door in your face._

But he walked out of his room…meandering about the living area for a bit, almost pacing as he gathered his courage. Finally, he headed over to her door, braced himself, and took a peak again.

The fact that he could see she was dressed gave him the guts to gently nudge the door for him to be able to enter without a problem. He waited in the doorway, watching her, waiting.

She was standing before a mirror that went all the way down to the floor, staring at her reflection as she smoothed out what she wore with her hands. She was in a white, fine-linen dress, fit perfectly for her, emphasizing fully the lines and curves of her body—but not truly "tight"; it was just loose enough to have a feeling of "flowing", and to, Sam figured, truly be comfortable for the girl who wore it. The dress was sleeveless (she wore separate sleeves beginning as gloves, reaching up to just beyond the elbows), and Sam could see from the side its low décolletage—not low enough to test "limits" (Diane had her dignity, after all), but enough to show a sense of real pride and confidence in her nature as a woman.

That last thought brought him back to the day they'd first met—and how he'd overheard her telling that Sloane character, "Oh, Sumner, I'm not 'beautiful'…." Later, when she'd first begun to accept that Sumner was leaving her, Sam had made it a _point_ to begin his attempt to comfort her by telling her she was "a _very_ attractive young lady". Which she _was_, of course…but Diane, he remembered, had straightened up a little before thanking him—as if it _was_ a big deal for her to hear it. Not in the sense of people never having told her that, before—but just that it was an unusual _idea_ to her…as if the fact that a _stranger_ told it to her—someone who wouldn't say it out of politeness, but clearly meant it (making it "objective", or something)—was something she'd needed, without knowing it.

Sam could never understand it, try as he might: why on earth _this_ woman, with all her style and grace and class, wouldn't be too aware of her own beauty, before that—despite how well she seemed to channel it. If it _was_ an "unconscious" thing—how she wore her hair and her clothes and her jewelry, how she applied her cosmetics and so on, how she _carried_ herself—well…if it _did_ all just come naturally out of her, without a thought… it actually made her all the more appealing, and sexy, to Sam. It meant that Diane's glamor was part of her "being"—her _nature_: never something she had to "try" at. She never saw it as something extraordinary—it was just how she was. She had an _instinct_ to be beautiful—without even suspecting that "beautiful" was the word for it.

He'd often suspected that her knowing that _he_—Sam Malone, full-blown _expert_ at noticing beauty in women—found her "desirable"…was a big part of what helped Diane really learn to accept that part of her for what it was. At any rate…she sure seemed to love playing it up for all it was worth for him, whenever they were together….

Here, now…she didn't seem aware of his presence, at all. She was focused on her reflection, gently pressing down the folds in her dress. There was an intense perceptiveness in her eyes—focused either on what she saw in the mirror, or whatever it seemed to mean to her.

"Diane?" Sam asked, softly.

She said nothing—still apparently unaware of him. Sam walked over to her—and found himself _all_ too aware of how lovely she was, and how the way she was dressed emphasized it for him.

And he was also all too aware of the fact that the intensity in her eyes was partly due to her striving to keep the tears in them from escaping.

Sam put his hand on her shoulder—

Diane gasped, whirling to him.

Sam held up his hands, "I-I'm sorry; I…"

"_Oh_—" Diane put her hand on her chest, sighing with relief, "Sam; I…I didn't see you."

Sam smiled at her, "The door was open."

"Yes, um…" Diane looked off, chuckling nervously, "I—well, I'm…not exactly used to having—well, guests for the _night_—let alone…"

Sam shrugged, nodded…and found himself looking down, and backing up a step, taking in the sight again. "So, what's, uh…"

"Yes, well—" Diane's cheeks flushed, and her gaze lowered, and she started wringing her hands. "I just—well…"

Sam hesitated, and looked off, gathering his thoughts. He turned back to Diane and quietly said, "Sweetheart…that's a wedding dress."

Diane swallowed, and looked up to meet his gaze, "Yes," she whispered.

"Well…what—"

"Sam, it isn't what you'd think. It—" Diane cut herself off…and her eyes welled up again.

"Hey…" Sam took her arms, "Diane…"

Diane blinked back her tears, and blurted out, "It was for us."

Sam said nothing, as his heart tugged. Sure enough, she was now wearing that ring—on the third finger of her hand….

Diane quickly added, "Or—well, it was _supposed_ to be. It…I never told you, but—I bought it, just before Sumner came back, that…last time. But—when we decided to…well—when we decided to have our wedding that night—in the bar, I…well, I suppose there wasn't enough time, and—"

She cut off as Sam put a hand to her shoulder with a smile. He looked around for a moment…and right to the side, on the bed, was a matching headdress and golden tiara. His smile grew, as he let her go, and took those two remaining pieces of the ensemble. He put them on her head, in the right order. Diane let him—her tears clearly harder and harder to suppress. Sam put the veil back, and just stared at her for a moment, still smiling at how lovely she was, in every way. Diane blinked, and smiled back, glowing and radiant…so angelic that Sam shook his head in wonder.

"Well, I'll be darned," he said.

Diane nodded, and gave another light chuckle, "I, um…well, I—suppose I stumbled on its…box when I was looking for…" she shrugged a little, "Well, at any rate, I suddenly found myself wondering whether you'd still have told me to—well, _had _I worn this…"

Sam shrugged, "Well, seeing how it looks right now, I can tell you it'd have been pretty hard."

Diane nodded, looking off, pursing her lips. "Just not enough time…" she whispered.

"Hey…" Sam took her shoulders, and she looked at him. He smiled, "Come on—it was the right thing to do. I hated it, but it was."

"I know, but…I only wish…"

Sam nodded, "Me too, sweetheart," he whispered.

Diane swallowed, for a while saying nothing, looking deep in thought. Then her smile returned. "Well," she said, "This…might sound a tad—eccentric, but…I don't suppose it would be worth…playing it out, as it were."

Sam chuckled, "What's that?"

Diane blushed, and her gaze fell, "I-I realize it's…absurd—"

"No, I don't mean _that_, I just…I don't know what we'd…you know, get _out_ of it. It's—not for real, I mean…."

Diane managed to meet Sam's eyes again, and sighed, "I know, but…I—I just want to…well, I wouldn't trust you'd understand why. I'm not even sure _I_ do, but…I'd just like to know how it would feel. Live in the moment, as it were—the…the way it _could_ have been."

"How it—"

Diane's smile grew, and reached up to take the veil, pulling it forward and down—and took his hands.

"Shall we, Sam?" she asked.

Sam could see through to her face, so pure and innocent, and the joy filling her eyes. How could he resist?

He chuckled, "Hey, what the heck? Okay…ladies first."

"All right—um…" Diane straightened, and beamed, all aglow. "Sam Malone," she said, "From the very first day, from our first encounter, you've…you've given me so much. I cannot begin to describe how you've helped me—how you…"

Her eyes moistened, and she blinked it away, "When I felt my life was over—abandoned, alone—you helped me start anew…when I lost Elizabeth, you were _there _for me, to listen and share my tears…whenever the world turned its back on me, you showed me how to face the world, and overcome…. Through many trials and tribulations, you were there, to give me strength—and when I feared my dreams were lost, Sam…you were there, to give me the courage to find them, again."

Diane shook her head in wonder, "Oh, Sam, I can't begin to describe what you've given me…how you've helped me to _be_, and to _do_, and to _live_. For so long, you had been my support, and my strength—and I didn't realize it. Perhaps I didn't allow myself to see it—perhaps I…I allowed all the doubts of others to affect me—all those who presumed to have such 'expertise' on what you and I truly needed, and wanted. But _now_, Sam—this moment…I can no longer deny what I should have accepted long ago. What binds us together—what _has_, from the very beginning—can never be torn asunder, not by time, or distance, or anything or anyone."

Sam felt his heart quickening inside.

Diane straightened up proudly, and said, "And so, my love…I, Diane Chambers, take you, Sam Malone, to be my husband…to love, honor, and cherish, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health—and forsaking all others…keeping myself for you and you alone, so long as we both shall live."

For a while, Sam said nothing. All he could think about was how sincere every _word_ of that "recital" of the vow really was…as if it wasn't a recital—as if she were treating this as though it were for real…not in her room, but at the altar, their friends all in the audience, in silent support.

Diane leaned to him, her eyes sparkling in amusement behind the veil, "Sam? It's your turn."

"What—oh, right, sorry…" Sam cleared his throat, and smiled back at her. _Well, what the heck—let's do it._

"You know," he said…letting himself get swept away, himself, "Diane, I can't help but go back to where me met, either. Yeah, I—I can't help remembering the first time you smiled at me…after you called me a—'magnificent pagan beast', and I thanked you for it."

Diane nodded, chuckling silently.

"Well, I—call me crazy, but I can't begin telling you how much of a sinking in my gut I had, when I learned about…well, you and _him_. Something in me told me it wasn't gonna go well—I told myself it was stupid of me, I was just jealous he was getting a shot at you when I wouldn't…but I still felt like he was just the _wrong_ guy for you. Boy, how things work out…."

Diane briefly looked off with a smirk, then looked back to him.

Sam shrugged, "Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is: ever since then, I found myself looking forward to—well, us talking, or even _arguing_—heck, I really caught myself _loving_ when we were irritating the heck out of each other. I never knew why, but…you know, I guess it was I always respected you. Always standing up for yourself—I loved your guts; I loved your fire and your style and everything about you. You always drove me crazy—and part of me always loved you for that. I was…crazy about _you_—crazy _for_ you. You were…" Sam swallowed, gathered himself, and went on, "You were _worth_ going crazy over, sweetheart—just so beautiful, and sweet, and sexy, and smart, and fun, and decent—everything about you made it worth it…_makes_ it worth it."

Diane blinked, again aglow with her smile.

"Well, I…I'll bet you'll be the first to say you're not 'perfect'—but I guess part of me tells me you are. Well…I just mean that—everything about you makes me want you…but it also kinda makes me wonder if I could ever deserve you." He smiled, and shrugged, "Well—you seemed to think I did, and wouldn't let me think I didn't. I guess…I guess all I can do is—do everything I possibly can, to _make_ me deserve you."

Sam paused, staring at her. Diane met his gaze through the veil, waiting silently with an encouraging smile—as if encouraging not only the finishing of the vow…but the confidence within himself to reach the pedestal he put her on.

Sam straightened, and said, quietly but firmly, "In that case…I, Sam Malone, take you, Diane Chambers…to be my wife—to…love, honor, and cherish, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health—I'll forsake all others…and keep myself for you, and only you—till death do us part."

He said it. And somehow, it felt as if a giant weight he didn't even know was there was suddenly lifted off his shoulders. A fun little "tryout" or not…it felt _real_. Sam _sincerely_ doubted anyone in a "legitimate" position to "recognize" it _would_…but there it was. Words the two of them had so long begged for fate to let them say to one another—and at last, under this cute little pretense…they could.

He could see Diane blinking intensely for a moment. "Oh, Sam…" she whispered. Then she swallowed, and beamed, and added, "You may now kiss the bride."

Sam smiled, taking the veil and setting it back, so he could take in her full radiance again, without anything to block it. And he took her in his arms…and their lips met.

It felt as though time became meaningless—there was only the two of them; all that mattered was this moment—this, in one another's arms. A perfect moment…where everything was _right_. Taking in each other, in this moment of perfect union. And when the kiss was over, and their awareness of the universe returned, Sam smiled at the woman he'd so often dreamed to have this role, in his life—for real. The tears in her eyes—of joy, and relief—and her smile…it seemed to say, _At last…at long last, it's been said._

Sam shook his head, with a smile of his own. "Wow…."

Diane nodded.

"How about that?"

"Yes…."

Sam straightened up, still holding her in his arms, and said, "Okay…think we'd better put that away?"

Diane blinked back her tears, and her smile turned playful, "Oh, is that necessary?"

"Well, you know, if you want to really _use_ it, when all's said and done…"

Diane's smile faded a little, her eyes widening in realization. "Sam…"

"Look, I dunno _when_, but…you know, as far as I'm concerned, this has been the best time I've had in a _long_ time." Sam looked her up and down, "And I wouldn't want this thing to need to get _replaced_, or anything—I like it."

Diane chuckled, "Oh, _Sam_…"

Sam let her go, "So, let's get to it, huh?"

Diane crossed an arm across her chest and raised her other hand to her face in a thoughtful expression. After a moment, she shrugged and said, "Well, of course, Sam—now, if you'll excuse me…"

"What—?"

Diane grinned took hold of him, turned him around, and pushed him out the door. "Well, you have your _own_ business to attend to—and I hardly think you'd have any business helping a lady put away her wedding dress, regardless of _what_ experience you claim to have—"

"Hey, come on!"

"In a few minutes, Sam—not to worry. Now—_go_!" as she gave a last _shove_.

Sam laughed as he turned to face her, "This is crazy, you know that? _You're_ crazy."

Diane was leaning forward against the wall, her head peeking out, arm ready to close the door, with a too-innocent-to-be-innocent smile. "Now, _now_, Mr. Malone…no honeymoon necessarily occurs _the moment_ after the ceremony, now does it?"

"Yeah, yeah—I'm gonna hold you to those 'few minutes'."

Diane laughed, and straightened up. "I know you will…my love."

Sam smiled, and nodded. Diane closed the door. And locked it.

Sam chuckled again. _That's my girl._ And so he turned to his room, snapped his fingers, and darted inside.

* * *

**Note: Yes, that's the dress I referred to, from Chelsea's story "Comfortably Numb". For thematic reasons, I had Diane keep it instead of leave it for Sam. Thanks to Chelsea for letting me "borrow" it, as it were...hope you liked this nod!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Note: Okay, folks...I'll try and wrap it up, this week.**

**This chapter arose partly out of my wondering whether Sam revealed to Diane in "One For The Road" that he now had that you-know-what-that famous symbol of his beginning to live a lie in his "coping" with getting older...**

**I know, revealing it ****_this_**** early in the show hurts the "TV movie" conceit...but you never know. Maybe Ted ****_would've_**** been up for it, this early.**

* * *

Diane rested against the man who truly was the love of her life…his arm around her, holding her close as she reached up and stroked his hair.

She sighed, a bit sad for him, and said, "You know, Sam…I will say this: had you not told me, I don't see how I could have known."

Sam smiled at her, "I know…that's kinda the point. It's _my_ hair after all…you know me, I always go to the best care I could find. And…you know, when I realized what was happening…"

"When did you?"

Sam sighed, "You want me to give the exact day? I can, you know."

"Sam…" Diane sighed again, shaking her head. "You don't have to be like that—I…I think I gather how…unfortunate it was for you."

"Yeah…you know, all my life, I'd been obsessed with being the kind of guy that…you know, that women _throw_ themselves at—and _then_, suddenly I found myself realizing I might lose that. I was…getting older—and if I didn't do something about it, it was gonna get pretty darn obvious."

Diane said nothing.

Sam smirked at her, "Well, it was a couple years after you left—you don't have to worry about that."

"Sam! I don't care about it—not like _that_."

"No, just that…I wouldn't want you to think I'd been keeping that from you—you know, especially us being…engaged, and all."

Diane shook her head, "Oh, Sam, I didn't think you had."

"Yeah, well…" Sam grinned, and ran his free hand down Diane's side, "Didn't you tell me guys like me got better-looking when we got older, or something? Guess it's only up to a point."

Diane closed her eyes for a moment with a smile, taking in the sensations of his touch. Then she blinked and met his gaze, "Well, you gathered what I meant by it, of course."

"Yeah, but you don't have any issues like _that_. I mean, look at you, sweetheart—as far as I'm concerned, any man you'd want, you could snap up without a second thought."

"Sam, that isn't the _point_."

Sam chuckled, and Diane found herself sharing it. After a moment, she went on, "The point is…_everyone_ succumbs to age, in time. It's part of our existence."

"Well, that doesn't mean I just gotta take it. I mean, you're telling me you'd be perfectly okay with a bald Sam?"

"You are hardly _bald_, Sam; you are _thinning_—slightly, might I add."

"Yeah, give it time, sweetheart."

"Well, even if that _were_ to happen, I wouldn't care, Sam. I love Sam Malone—not Sam Malone's _hair_. It isn't important to me."

Sam stared at her for a moment…and smiled, "Thanks, sweetheart."

Diane returned the smile…and felt her cheeks flush a little as she went on, "Just so long as you…well, when _I_ should ever…well—"

"Aw, come on, honey, by the time _that_ would ever happen, I'd just be amazed at how long you'd been okay with _me_ getting older."

Diane's vision blurred, her smile growing. "Thank you, Sam…."

Sam paused for a moment, and added, "I'm keeping the hair, though."

"If you like."

"Like you said, if I didn't tell you, you'd never know."

"Well…I _am_ happy you _did_ tell me, Sam. It wouldn't do to keep such things from each other—certainly not after our 'wedding'…."

They chuckled, and Sam brought Diane in for a kiss. It was long, and passionate and filled with the love they shared. But something felt… Diane frowned when they finished, looking at him in concern, "Is something wrong, Sam?"

"No, not that. It's just, well…" Sam lay back, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, he sighed, and turned back to her. "It's just that I'm going back with the guys in a few days…right?"

Diane froze a little. The truth was, she'd almost forgotten about that…about the fact that, ultimately, it wasn't _up_ to Sam, how long he would stay here, in Los Angeles…with her. She nodded, her gaze falling.

Sam chuckled, and shook his head, "Yeah, what _am_ I gonna tell everyone? Sooner or later, even if I keep shut about _us_, they're gonna start wondering why I'm not chasing babes like I was doing before."

Diane felt her eyes widen a little, and then she blinked and felt a smile. Somehow—and frankly she hadn't realized it until this moment—part of her heart had started wondering whether he _would_ go back to his womanizing. She hadn't realized that…until discovering how _relieved_ she felt, right now, hearing Sam saying this.

Sam shrugged, "I dunno—guess I'll figure something out. I mean, I could just as easily say I'm going _out_ with my date—we're just not meeting at the bar."

Diane sighed, "Sam, I hardly think…"

"Well, geez, I mean—how long did it take until we met Vera?"

Diane chuckled, blushing a little at the embarrassing memory.

Sam smiled at her, "So, I'll go out—and I'll give you a call. How does that sound?"

Diane shrugged, "It's an interesting idea, certainly. But…Sam, I'm concerned. If you intend to keep us a secret, how long do you expect it to be? The two of us…connecting only through a telephone—"

"Hey, I'll drop by—I can do that; it's my bar."

"And if you do so enough, they will wonder. And if, for example, _I_ were to return for a visit, you would _have_ to explain to them…not only the nature of your secret, but the fact that it _was _a secret!"

"Yeah, they wouldn't like that, would they?"

"Well, were I them, _I_ certainly wouldn't."

Sam nodded, "Yeah…guess you're right. I'll have to tell them, eventually. Just—not right away. Soon enough so they won't get mad about that…but late enough so it's clear I didn't just jump into this."

Diane smiled, and said, "Well, then…how do you think they'll take the news?"

"Oh, Woody should be great with it, right?"

Diane's smile grew, and she nodded.

"Norm would be fine with it…I mean, he was there for me when I—well, anyway…you know, I guess I'd better tell him when it's just him and me in the bar—he never really opens up, otherwise."

"Of course. And Clifford?"

"Oh, I'd bet he'd be okay—whether he'd say it or not depends on everyone else."

"Well, I _seem_ to recall him laying wagers that you and I _would_ marry."

"Sure. There's this new girl, Rebecca—well, not _new_, she actually…" Sam chuckled, "She ran the bar before I bought it back, if you can believe it."

Diane felt her eyes widen again. "Well! _Thereby_ hangs a tale…!"

"Yeah, you said it—anyway, I guess she wouldn't care, either way. Woman's nuts."

"I see."

"Carla would rant about how much she's against it, no matter what—but…hey, give it enough time, she'll give it a rest and moan about having no strength left."

Diane chuckled, "I suppose so."

"Well, that leaves…Frasier."

Diane's smile faded, and her heart sank. "Yes…."

"Geez, who am I kidding? He and Lilith are going great, right?"

"Well, you would know more about that than I, Sam. But all the same…has he recovered—truly recovered? He certainly seemed to, when he and Lilith began…hadn't he?"

"I guess. He's _joked_ about it, a lot—but he and Lilith sure seem okay. I mean, if he _hasn't_ gotten over you, you'd think she'd have found out and called him on it…."

Diane nodded, and her smile returned. "I suppose so."

Sam grinned, "So I guess we got nothing to worry about. Just gotta make sure I don't just pop it out on them, all at once. And wait a bit…gotta remember _that_."

Diane sighed, and moved closer to him. "I'll certainly see that you do."

Sam chuckled, and pulled her to him once more…and this time, he didn't stop.

The feeling of his strong, rough hands on her body…and her awareness that he was taking in the feel of _her_, as well…regardless of what time had done, this was still Sam Malone—his vigor ever young and alive. And Diane Chambers was ever so delighted to respond in kind with her own passion—their energies replenished by the rest they'd taken, just now.

Diane smiled at him, "A few days, then?"

"Yeah…let's make them count, huh?"

"Gladly…."


	20. Chapter 20

**Note: Wow, this just might be, not only the longest Cheers fic I've ever written, but perhaps the longest one I'll write in a LONG time. Anyway, here's the last chapter.**

**BTW, a few answers to some questions some of you'd had about this "universe":**

**Regarding the "sex addiction" arc: well...I've always wondered if there wasn't some kind of connection between his "addict" status and the Diane-shaped hole in his heart. Recall that, in the series finale, they mention the therapy ****_before_**** Diane appears and ****_after_**** she leaves...but it's never brought up when she's around. It's basically forgotten about when she's around...as if her presence effectively does away with that issue. My theory is that the intense womanizing-to-the-point-of-addiction signified his desire to fill in the void Diane left: remember that "One Last Fling" more-or-less made clear that (as he himself discovers) he didn't have any particular need to "chase" anyone if he already had Diane.**

**As for the "coldness" the characters seemed to have towards Diane in the finale...I basically attribute it to shock over her sudden arrival after all these years...and then the sudden out-of-the-blue engagement. (Why else would WOODY, who was always such a big shipper for the couple, be among those struck silent?) I fixed that, here.**

**Finally, another note: As far as I'm concerned, Frasier's dark attitude towards Diane (and the Sam/Diane relationship) in the finale is colored more by his...****_intense_**** and conflicted emotions regarding Lilith's infidelity-then-return than anything else. Remember...****_who_**** was it that brought Lilith and Frasier together...? Anyway, at ****_this_**** point in the show, things haven't gotten to that point-there's ****_some_**** hints of tension, but nothing indicating what's to come.**

* * *

It was Tuesday. _Part_ of Sam was looking forward to meeting up with the guys. The part that linked it with saying goodbye to Diane…was _not_.

He called up Frasier early on, and they set the place and time. He used Diane's phone…and after hanging up, he let out a sigh…feeling totally drained despite himself.

Diane walked up to him, putting her hand on his arm. "Are you all right?"

Sam smiled at her, "What do you think?"

Diane's gaze fell, and she nodded, swallowing.

"Look, I…look, you know it's gotta be like this—"

"I know…" she met his gaze again. And then they embraced…and kissed. When it ended, she shook her head, and said, "It doesn't seem real, does it?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Well…guess that's it, huh?"

Diane nodded, "Yes…."

"Yeah, I—gotta pack up."

Diane nodded again, "Of course, Sam."

They didn't move—they remain locked in each other's arms, looking at each other.

Sam chuckled, "Okay, uh…"

"Yes, well—perhaps…should I help?"

"You know, that'd be great."

"Of course. Lead the way, my love."

They finally broke their embrace, and headed to the room. It didn't take too long…but Sam was suddenly reminded of something. He found it, and turned to Diane as they finished straightening up everything.

"So, that's going back to the necklace, right?" he asked, pointing to the ring on Diane's hand.

Diane smiled warmly as she brushed the diamonds gently with her other forefinger. "Well, I…wasn't planning on it. After all—for all intents and purposes, Sam, I intend to fully keep what promises I can. After all, I have no reason to conceal my status from anyone, here. It's…the least I can do."

Sam nodded, and smiled. "Well, you know, I…" chuckled, "Geez, I can't believe myself for this, but…"

Diane tilted her head a little, smiling at him expectantly. "Sam?"

Sam grinned, "Catch."

He launched what he had in his hand with his thumb—and being Sam Malone, he was a good enough pitch (sober) that even Diane could've caught it.

She did…and froze at the "plain" golden ring resting in her hands. After a blink, she let out a girlish laugh of astonished delight, "Why, Sam!"

Sam chuckled, "Guess that's something to take its place, huh? Not as fancy, but I figured it'd be appropriate."

"Oh…!" Diane closed both hands, clasped together, holding them to near her chin, her eyes sparkling in delight. "Sam, it's…it's _beautiful_, it—is it…?"

"Well, it's 'real' meaning it's a real gold ring, anyway. Match the one you got." Sam flicked another one straight up in the air, catching it and putting it in his pocket. "A little reminder to make it 'for real', I guess…when the time's right."

Hands still clasped and where they were, Diane nodded, beaming and glowing. Sam always loved seeing her like this—or even just hearing it, like the first time he'd asked her to marry him. This childlike joy of hers was one of the things he loved the most about her…every time he saw it, his heart couldn't help itself.

Sam headed over to her, smiling. "Well…that's all, I guess."

Diane nodded, still clearly losing herself in the moment.

Sam leaned to her and whispered, "So—know where the necklace is?"

Diane blinked, and composed herself, shrugging, "Right now?"

"Hey, it's as good a time as any—I'd like to see it on you."

"Oh, I _see_. And I suppose you want to put it on me, then?"

"Hey, I'd be game for that."

"At any rate, it will be some time before you're to meet with the guys."

"Well, sure—what are you thinking?"

Her eyes sparkled again. "The necklace is in my room, Sam."

"Yeah, I kinda figured, but—"

Diane kissed him softly, on the side of the mouth. And then again, the other side…and then full-on, but still soft. Then she smiled. No words.

"Oh…okay!" Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I'd say we got more than enough time…."

"Assuredly. Now…shall we begin a proper farewell?"

"You know it," Sam said. And then—the lift part. As always, Diane liked it. She liked it a lot.

"You know," Sam said, as he carried her to her room, "I'll say this for that John Allen Hill…that's—the guy running _Melville's_…"

"The blackguard?"

"Yeah, he's a jerk—but he brought in some great chefs. There's this…dessert of theirs."

"Oh?" Diane chuckled, clearly a little confused at why he was bringing _this_ up.

Sam grinned. He was making it all up, of course…but he remembered the things he knew about the lady in his arms—the things she liked…and things that _really_ turned her on.

"Well, you know…it's something they do with ice cream."

Diane smiled, "I love ice cream."

"Yeah, well, this is the _best_ ice cream. Basic flavors, whichever you want—nothing fancy, but I'm pretty sure if you ask vanilla, it's French."

Diane nodded, still smiling. "Well, that's fortunate."

They were now in her room. Sam saw the thin gold necklace chain on the dresser. He set Diane on her feet, and she stood straight, not moving, waiting for him to continue.

"Anyway, the important thing is…they cover it—with raspberry sauce."

Diane stiffened a little. "Indeed?"

"I mean _really_ cover it. They just can't help themselves…" Sam handed her the necklace, and headed over to behind her as she strung it through the 'wedding' ring.

Diane handed it back to him with an amused smile, "That…sounds so simple."

"Well, there's more," Sam said in a soft tone, as he held the necklace open, holding each end, dangling it in front of her. Diane lifted her hair up with her hands, and Sam put the necklace on, latching it.

Diane turned to her, bracing herself. "Well, what—what more…could they do?"

Sam could see in her eyes that she was starting to realize what he was doing with this story. And boy, was it working.

Sam leaned to her. "Well, they…heat _up_ the raspberry sauce…."

Diane stiffened, and swallowed. Some things never change. "How…hot do they make it?"

Sam lowered his voice, "How…hot…do you want it…?"

Diane reached up and held the edge of the door of her room, as if to steady herself. "W-well…it's certainly a shame I…don't believe I'll be able to visit for a while."

"Good thing I got the recipe."

Diane straightened up. The pretense was over. She gave the door a shove, and it closed. And then she broke, and threw herself into his arms, kissing him hungrily and barely giving him time to respond….

Some hours later, nestled contentedly against each other, Diane smiled at him, and said, "Sam…I was wondering."

"Yeah?"

"Perhaps…perhaps if I could see you off? I—I know it…it wouldn't do for me to talk to them, or let them see me, but…"

Sam noticed she was blinking back a few tears. "Hey…hey, sweetheart—"

"I-I'm fine, Sam. I just…I just—miss them. All of them…."

"Even Carla?"

"Oh, my word—she isn't with them, is she?"

Sam chuckled, "No, just Norm, Cliff, and Frasier."

"Good—heaven knows she'd 'detect' me."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, well…"

"Well—regardless…yes, I do miss Carla, Sam. In our own way, I suppose—much as she'd be _loath_ to admit it…I think we _were_ friends, of a sort."

"Yeah…. Well, what—so, you're saying you just want to…see them?"

"I don't know…I'm fairly certain part of me will just—cause me to want to call out to them, and…but I know I can't, and—" she sighed. "But I just…I _want_ to do it, Sam. I don't know if I can fully explain it, even to myself, but…I do."

"Hey…I get it, sweetheart. It'd be great to be together as long as we can."

"Yes…."

"Well, why not? Let's do it."

Diane smiled at him, blinking again, "Thank you, Sam."

"Hey, least I could do."

They shared a kiss…and began to prepare.

* * *

Frasier, Norm, and Cliff headed out of the car and up to the café. Right inside was Sam, hands out with a, "Hey! Guys!"

Norm and Cliff rushed over to him, calling out "Hey, Samm-_y_!" and so on. Frasier just smiled as he walked over with actual dignity.

"So, how's life treating ya, Norm?" Sam grinned.

"Like I bought it a six pack," Norm smirked.

"You know, it's a little known fact, that uh…" Cliff said, forefinger raised, "The _reason_ for the traditional combination of _six_ beer cans in a pack, er, involves the anatomical ratio of the average male hand structure!"

Sam smirked, "How are ya, Cliff?"

"Well, er, Sam—while the experience itself was, uh…quite recreational—the crowning achievement of this, er, endeavor is clearly…the record of pics I intend to show in my next projection event—"

"Cliff, I thought we agreed you wouldn't—"

"Eh, so we did, Norm—_but_…given sufficient time—and nostalgic accumulation…er, I think we can assume you and the doc will reconsider!"

"_No_," said Norm and Frasier—in unison.

Cliff shrugged, and confidently said, "As I said, given time…"

He headed out, back to the car.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "Where's he going?"

Norm shrugged, "There's a post office across the road—he wants to give them some _pointers_ or something…."

Frasier sighed, "Shouldn't you go stop him, Norm?"

"Well, I would, but I'd like a little change of pace—cafés are supposed to be good placed to relax, right? And after the excitement of Disney—"

Sam cut in, "They don't have beer, Norm."

"See you in a bit—_Cliff_!" Norm darted out of the place and after Cliff."

Frasier chuckled, and turned to Sam, taking notice of how…refreshed he seemed. It was…as if a burden of which he hadn't even been aware had been lifted off his shoulders. "So then, Sam," he said, "How are you faring?"

"Yeah, uh…great, Frais—I'm excellent. You uh…how are you?"

"Fine…thank you," Frasier replied, a little cautious. Sam was clearly happy—so, then, what was he being evasive about?

_Similar to the evasion of his before he went off to Hollywood…but not quite._

And then it hit him. "Did you…find what you were looking for?"

Sam straightened up a bit…and smiled, with a nod. "Yeah…I guess I sure did."

Frasier returned the smile. "So, then!—how is the coffee, here?"

"Yeah, it's…pretty good. But, uh—I'm just about ready to go, you know?"

"Well, of course, Sam—but at the very least, surely you could tolerate this place for a while longer…."

Sam actually seemed to _bristle_ a little—but covered it up quickly. "Well, uh…sure, whatever. I, uh…come to think of it, I guess I gotta—" he pointed to the restrooms.

"Skip it, Sam—I _know_."

Frasier wasn't sure _what_ had tipped him off to it—probably all the hints coming together.

Sam sighed. "How do you do that?"

"It's my job, Sam. Don't worry, I just asked."

Sam shook his head, "Look, I really gotta go. Take it easy, Doc."

Frasier didn't need to be a psychiatrist to understand the double meaning. He smiled and nodded.

Sam headed off. Frasier headed to the counter, and made his order. He took advantage of that to look around….

It didn't take him that long to see her.

She was as lovely as ever—still with that liveliness and bloom. That proper, dignified bearing…and sense of energy, of eagerness.

She was seated at a booth—staring into her coffee. Frasier could see that she was very tense.

Frasier sighed. He didn't blame her. In all likelihood, she'd heard everything. Hearing all those voices from her past…he would imagine the emotions, the flood of nostalgia—it would be quite overwhelming.

_But she didn't meet us with Sam…and…and I think I know why._

Frasier had a feeling that, had he allowed himself to, he might still feel some bitterness at what had happened between the two of them. But—right now, somehow…he didn't.

And then he noticed her tension seemed to increase a bit, in the minute or so he'd been there. With that…Frasier suddenly realized she was all too aware of his presence. She was only trying not to look at him.

Frasier sighed, and took his coffee from the woman who'd taken his order. And then, he gathered up his courage, and walked over to her.

* * *

It had been hard enough for Diane to "keep it together", hearing their voices…and all the memories they carried with them—so pleasant and wonderful…so filled with her regrets. And the knowledge that she was so close to them—and yet they didn't know it…she couldn't—wouldn't—stand up and call out to them…it was all she could do to keep from shedding tears. But it was supposed to have a therapeutic effect…and she was fairly certain she'd feel better, when it was done.

But then Frasier had lingered—and she'd heard. She knew. _He_ knew….

Diane had willed herself not to look in his direction—perhaps he wouldn't see her. No, that was absurd…but perhaps he would go away…just—

Just so much between them…"water under the bridge", as Sam's sort of milieu would have it. Perhaps Frasier was still bitter—he'd seemed to be over it, by the time she'd left…but all the same—

"Hello, Diane."

_He didn't go. You can't escape this. Oh, why did you want to accompany Sam, anyway? It would've been a wonderful goodbye, as it was—why did you _have_ to…_

No, it couldn't be helped…and Diane wouldn't be surprised if she'd subconsciously _wished_ for something like this to happen. It would certainly serve her right.

Diane looked up at him, and gave a smile she hoped wouldn't betray her turmoil. He was smiling, too. "Hello, Frasier," she said, "You're looking well…."

Frasier shrugged, "I'm—feeling well. Oh…may I?"

Diane nodded, "Of course!"

Frasier sat down. "How are you?"

Diane paused for a moment…and sighed, "Frasier, I—"

"Oh, don't worry…obviously, you and Sam wanted to spare us…complications. I can assure you, Diane…you don't have to worry about me. I know a thing or two about confidentiality, after all."

Diane felt her smile turn genuine—out of relief, of course. "Well, um…if I may ask, Frasier—how have you been?"

"Quite well, thank you. Did Sam tell you Lilith and I are married?"

"Well…perhaps—but even if he didn't, I would have assumed it would have happened soon—soon after I'd left, I mean."

"Of course. Well…we have a son."

Diane felt her smile grow. "Really? Oh, Frasier!"

"Yes…his name's Frederick. He's very intelligent—we're so proud of him, Diane."

Diane nodded, blinking a bit. "That's so wonderful, Frasier—I'm absolutely happy for you."

Frasier nodded, looking off for a moment.

"Well," Diane said, "I…hope it doesn't seem—conceited of me to say that I felt the two of you would be wonderful together."

Frasier shrugged. "Well—it's certainly been quite an adventure, at that."

Diane tilted her head, her smile a bit faded. "Quite an 'adventure'?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, _that's_ something quite unusual to say in response to what _I_ said! Frasier, you're almost sounding as though…"

Frasier frowned, "Diane—no, I-I didn't mean to imply…"

"No, I—I'm sorry, Frasier; forget I said anything…."

Frasier shrugged, "It's…quite all right."

Diane stiffened a little. She had no right to wonder about…Frasier and Lilith. But something about what he'd said…

"Well, if I may ask you again," Frasier said, smiling again, "How are you?"

Diane shrugged, "Well, I…I'm quite well—thank you."

"Clearly. Sam certainly seems so."

Diane nodded, feeling her smile return. "Certainly."

"And…well, if I may be so bold—the fact that you're here, seeing Sam off…I'd say things worked out quite well. For him, certainly."

Diane stared at him, "You…believe so?"

"Certainly. I—did suspect his reasons…" Frasier shrugged, and his voice was gentle as he added, "Right now, I could see he'd found what he was looking for."

"What he was…?"

"Oh, I suppose, in hindsight, he…over the past few years, I couldn't help but notice him—behaving as though he were…well, _desperate_, if you will. For a while, I'd been certain it was the bar—oh, I'm sorry, did he…?"

"Yes, he told me—something about his selling the bar. For the life of me, I can't imagine why on earth he would—" Diane froze…and her gaze fell. "Oh, my word," she whispered.

_It…it _was_ that, wasn't it? Somehow…part of me suspected, didn't it?—and didn't have the courage to press him on it_….

Frasier quickly added, "Diane, whatever you're thinking—don't. He told us he only 'needed a change of pace', or words to that effect—it's best to leave it at that."

Diane swallowed, gathered herself, and nodded.

"Well, the _point_ is," Fraser went on, "When I noticed that—desperation, if you will…I was sure it was simply his…desire to get _Cheers_ back—which signified, to me, a desperation to restore the sense of…authority—of _control_ over his life the bar doubtless represented for him, but…even after that—even after the bar was fully his…it didn't purge that from him. It just…buried it."

Diane looked up at him, saying nothing.

Frasier smiled, "Well—at any rate, I didn't see any evidence of it, just now. Whatever he was looking for…he certainly seems to have found it."

Diane felt a smile, and she blinked a little, nodding as her gaze fell again, "I know," she whispered.

And then…she felt his hand on hers. She looked at him, astonished despite herself. Frasier was still smiling.

"You know," he said, "It certainly seems as though I could say the same for you, Diane."

Diane's smile returned. "Thank you," she said, still near a whisper.

Frasier nodded, and straightened, taking hold of his coffee. "Well…I'm glad to see you're doing well. If you'll excuse me—"

"Wait—Frasier…"

Frasier relaxed. "Yes?"

Diane paused for a moment, looking off, gathering her thoughts. And then she met his gaze, staring into his eyes. Everything in her wanted to ask, _Frasier…did _you_ find what you were looking for?_

But she couldn't. By all accounts, all of this was his effort to…to let her know he no longer held…any remnants of bitterness or grudge—at least, as far as he was concerned. But somehow—

_Oh, behold the depths of your ego, Diane Chambers—to think that, after all these years, a gifted, brilliant psychiatrist would not have overcome such things! Besides, he's _happily_ married…isn't he? So then, why can't you simply accept that he's at last over you, as he should be?_

And so, she smiled and said, "Frasier, when you return to Boston, could you do something for me?"

Frasier shrugged, "What is it?"

Diane leaned to him, still smiling, and said, "Go _sweep_ Lilith in her arms, and show her all the love in the world."

Frasier said nothing for a while…then he finally chuckled, and nodded, "Well—I wouldn't think I needed more incentive for _that_ than I already have…."

Diane nodded. _I hope not, Frasier. I hope things _are_ wonderful for you. I…I would hate to see your heart broken so…especially in such a way that'd be—so much worse than what I'd done. You deserve better, Frasier…and I hope you understand how much I mean that._

"Well," she said warmly, "Do it, nonetheless."

Frasier nodded, "I certainly will. She deserves it."

Diane nodded. "You _both_ do."

Frasier nodded…and rose to his feet, taking the cup. "Well," he said, "I…trust you'll—come to Boston, soon…visit?"

Diane frowned. "Well…"

"Oh, I know—give it time; have Sam…_prepare_ everyone, as it were—I'd hate to have everyone shocked at a sudden appearance, after all these years…."

"Of course, Frasier. Well—to your question, I…well, I imagine I will, eventually. Just…not now."

Frasier nodded. "Of course."

Diane rose to her feet. "Well…goodbye, Frasier."

Frasier smiled, and extended his hand, "Goodbye, Diane."

They shook hands, and then he turned, and left.

And then Diane noticed Sam waiting by the counter. His look of innocence was clearly an act.

Diane sighed, gathered her things, and walked over to him with a coy smile. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Oh, most of it, I think—I made it a point to speed things up in there—"

"All right—all right, Sam, I don't need the details."

Sam nodded, and looked at her in concern. "You okay?"

Diane turned to see through the windows…where Frasier was reuniting with Norman and Clifford. She sighed, and turned to Sam, "I'm all right, thank you, Sam."

"Okay. You _sure_…"

"Sam…" Diane beamed, "As of this moment…everything is as right as can be."

There must have been a jukebox in the café…a song played—it was a piece by Sinatra: "It Had To Be You".

Sam smiled, and shrugged, "Well, I'd better go with them, huh?"

Diane nodded, her gaze falling, "Yes…."

"Hey…" Sam took her chin, so she met his eyes, "Won't be too long, okay? I'm the _owner_ of that bar—I can take a vacation whenever the heck I want. It'll be soon."

Diane smiled, and embraced him, resting the side of her head on his chest. She felt him stroking her hair.

They lingered there for a moment longer…and then she looked up at him, and shared a smile…and a kiss.

At last, she stared into his eyes, and said, "Now—you'd best be off."

Sam nodded, "Take care, sweetheart."

"Always!"

They shared a chuckle, and then Sam softly said, "Goodbye."

Diane nodded, "Goodbye."

And she stood there, watching him go to the door. He paused as he opened, turning to her. She blew him a kiss. He chuckled, and nodded. And then he was gone.

Diane remained there, standing…until the song ended.

_For nobody else…gave me a thrill!_

_With all your faults…I love you still:_

_It had to be you…wonderful you…_

_It had to be you…!_

* * *

_Sam & Diane will return..._

* * *

**Thanks for reading, everyone!**


End file.
